Phoenix and Fire
by Sigma
Summary: Crossover with Stargate. A chance meeting leads to a unexpected outcome for two lonely individuals….
1. Default Chapter

Phoenix and Fire  
  
Author: Sigma  
  
Disclaimer: Again I own nothing, I know nothing, this is merely a humble act of admiration. All characters belong to Gekko Corp and Mutant Enemy respectively apart from any original characters that may creep in and they belong to me!  
  
Rating: PG -13 for language, AU – Futurefic – romance/drama, B/D  
  
Summary – Crossover with Stargate. A chance meeting leads to a unexpected outcome for two lonely individuals....  
  
Note: I've messed with cannon a little here. In my version Daniel was born in 1969, which makes him 38 in 2007 when this story is set. Buffy is 26 (I think – feel free to correct me if I'm wrong). Angel did die – Buffy disappeared off when she got the news, to Nepal and spent a year staying with Oz at his monastery, fighting Asian demons in order to find some peace. Whether she was successful or not is up to you to judge.  
  
Please review – I need to know if this is worth continuing....  
  
Prologue  
  
Thousands of stories start like this. A girl walks into a bar. ...  
  
Buffy stopped just within the entrance; wrinkling her nose in disgust at the fetid combination of stale cigarette smoke, sour beer and blood. Vampire bars...ewwhh. Even after ten years as the slayer there were some things she never wanted to get used to. And hanging around in demon bars was one of them. She scanned the room almost absentmindedly as she tried to calculate exactly how many scuzzy demon and vampire hangouts she had ruined shoes, pants and other items of apparel in during her tenure as the Slayer but quickly gave up her mental survey when the count went into the hundred's. It was just too depressing. Suddenly all she wanted to was get in, get the Ring of Tahnmonet from Giles' contact and get out, before someone got in her face to the extent that she was forced to stake them out of sheer irritation.  
  
Checking that Mr Pointy was securely in her back pocket she sauntered over to the bar where the barista, a human male in his early 30's watched her approach with wary eyes as he polished a glass. She turned on her best California girl smile, amping up the wattage, and leaned halfway across the bar displaying just a little golden cleavage as she did so, her smile widening as the look in the barman's eyes shifted from suspicious to vacant. Sometimes it was a lot easier to use the carrot rather than the stick.  
  
"Hi! – I was just wondering if you can help me?"  
  
The barman smiled in response a little goofily, hastily putting down the glass and running a hand through already dishevelled hair. Buffy's smile widened just a fraction. Gotcha little fishy.  
  
"I'll sure try Ma'am. What exactly do you need help with?"  
  
The blond sighed a little, leaning her elbows on the counter so that they framed that elusive glimpse of cleavage.  
  
"Well I'm meant to be picking up a present for a friend from a seller here. His name's Kalson. Any ideas where I might find him?"  
  
She could see the surprise in his eyes at the idea that she might be looking for Kalson, who according to Giles was a deeply unpleasant and rather smelly old guy, although of course being Giles he hadn't used quite those terms to describe him. But as far as she could judge it was only surprise, not unease and when he nodded over to a darkened corner of the bar she gave him a thousand watt smile as thanks, before sauntering over to the indicated corner, leaving him flushed and stuttering in her wake. It was nice to know she still had it, even if she never had any intention of using it seriously. Just one more weapon in an arsenal full of them. The thought wiped the remnants of the smile off her face and by the time she reached the booth her face was its usual expressionless mask.  
  
The old man leaning over his drink was filthy, long black beard full of grease and other unidentifiable substances but when he looked her up and down the narrowed eyes were bright and crafty. She slid onto the other seat, careful to keep out of olfactory distance and nodded curtly to him.  
  
"Kalson?"  
  
"Yeah – who's asking?"  
  
"I've been sent by Rupert Giles – I'm here to pick up an artefact."  
  
At her Watcher's name the bleary eyes brightened still further and Buffy heaved a small sigh of relief. It looked like for once she was going to get out of a demon bar without ruining any clothing. 


	2. Phoenix and fire Chapter 1

All reviews are good – opinions, ideas, thought – should I keep going?  
  
Chapter 1  
  
It was only 22.00 when she slipped out of the bar again, the Ring securely pocketed and with Kalson's regards to "Ripper" to pass on. It was far too early to go back to her hotel room, her body clock too used to being up at night after all these years to allow her to get any rest much before 03.00am. She wasn't even in the need for munchies and as a point of principle she avoided bars when she was on her own. That way lay solitary drinking and a downward path. She paused looking up and down the moonlit street, indecisive. She could go patrolling but she had never been in Colorado Springs before and didn't know what the local hotspots were. And anyway, it seemed like a pretty quiet town.  
  
She was just considering going back to the hotel anyway and watching something on payperview when her spider sense abruptly tingled to life. Turning she saw two figures slip out of the bar entrance and pad off down the street, the rolled up sleeves and the bad hairstyles marking them as vampire rejects from the Miami Vice period even more than the tingly sense in her gut. With a resigned grimace she grasped Mr Pointy in one hand and padded after them. At this rate the evening was going to end up with dust all over her clothes. At least it was easier to get out than demon slime.  
  
She followed them down the darkened street, slipping from shadow to shadow, keeping out of range, just waiting for them to pause somewhere inconspicuous so she could stake them without any passers by making a fuss. 'Cause that always led to awkward explanations and really she just wanted to go to go back to the hotel, eat some nachos and perhaps watch a fluffy romantic comedy. So it was with a sigh of pure exasperation that she saw the two fashion rejects close in on the tall slim figure of a guy who had just unwittingly ambled around the corner into mortal danger.  
  
Daniel hadn't even noticed that he might be wandering into a situation, his normally well trained instincts momentarily subdued by the intensity of his train of thought. They had just got back from PX-578 this afternoon after five days of sun, sand and possible weapon grade artefacts that had had Sam drooling at the mouth, General Hammond looking avuncular and even Jack and Teal'c cracking a few smiles. But he had been far more interested in the hieroglyphics that had been emblazoned on the back wall of the storage chamber, which held a tantalising hint of another sub set or regional dialect of Goa'uld. The possibilities of a historical and cultural rift between system lords was too intriguing to ignore and squirrel like he had burrowed into his office, only leaving when Jack had ordered him off the mountain.  
  
Of course when he got home the only thing in his fridge was a half used can of beans that probably qualified as a non-sentient life form by now and a quart of milk so high it was almost cheese. So it was yet another trip to his local Diner and an omelette and fries. Replete, he had decided to walk home, the diner only being a few blocks from his apartment, almost absently taking a short cut down Pierson Throughway. But it wasn't until he turned into the darkened street and the two guys lunged that he really clicked back to the here and now.  
  
The next few minutes were a blur. The two guys grabbed him, one punching him in the stomach, immediately bringing him to his knees to bring up most of whatever he'd eaten at dinner, while the other one landed a round house kick that knocked him down flat, his head ringing like a bell, the sour taste of vomit clear in his throat as he heaved his guts out helplessly while they closed in to finish him. His sight was blurry and all he could think was that Jack and Janet were going to be so pissed, Jack for getting himself in such a stupid situation in the first place and Janet because he had been working on his all time record of six months without a concussion. He tried to pull himself up; nothing left in his stomach to puke up but could only get as far as his elbows, his sight swimming alarmingly in and out of focus, the only thing that was clear the two ugly grins on the weirdly mutated? – faces of his two attackers.  
  
But then just as he resigned himself to the fact that this was going to get really nasty something happened. It was all just a blur of movement but he thought he saw a small figure swoop in, graceful as a dancer, moving like silk, kicking the two guys off him, spinning and doing something, something that made them disappear as though they had never existed. But that was impossible wasn't it? He must have an even worse concussion than he had thought. Everything was tinted with a greyed out haze and moving left streams of rainbow colour across his vision. He pulled himself up into a sitting position and put a hand up to his head, wincing at the sudden sharp pain, and grimacing at the blood on his fingertips. Shit, Janet was going to be pissed.  
  
Buffy brushed the last of the dust off her shirt and gave herself a once over to check she hadn't missed a spot. They might have had a few decades but those two guys had been little more than fledging's nothing even as tough as the normal day to day calibre of baby vamp she took the baby slayers out to practice on at the Cleveland Hellmouth. For her they were hardly worth bothering about, but as she shrugged philosophically it was after all the Slayer motto – see vampire, slay vampire.  
  
A groan from the ground distracted her attention and she turned to the vamps potential victim, now sitting up and gingerly feeling his scalp wound. He was a lovely shade of greenish grey that contrasted wonderfully with the red blood of his scalp wound and she winced in sympathy as he tentatively felt around his injuries. God that must have hurt. Swallowing the slight pang of guilt that told her she should have interrupted a little faster she crouched down in front of him, green eyes meeting dazed blue ones sympathetically.  
  
"Hey buddy," her voice was gentle, trying not to startle the already rattled man, "do you need a hand?"  
  
Daniel was still trying to command his stomach not to rebel when he became aware of a slight blond figure crouching in front of him, one hand reaching out to steady him when his balance went AWOL. He could tell it was a woman, but he couldn't make out the details of her features too clearly through his concussion, only the brightness of her hair and the piercing mint greenness of her eyes making any impression. But her voice was kind and her touch was gentle and just now he would have probably welcomed a helping hand from a Jaffa. God Jack was going to be pissed with him.  
  
"Yeah. Ehmm, thanks – did you see those guys that hit me?"  
  
Buffy bit her lip at the dazed expression on his face. He was really kind of cute and for a second he had an inexplicable urge to just blurt out that they had been vampires, and well - she'd killed them. But thankfully the cover up habit was too well engrained and she made a vague gesture down the alley in the opposite direction.  
  
"They ran off that way when I came round the corner I think. Can I help you up, call a cab maybe?"  
  
Daniel accepted her pull off the ground with a grunt of thanks, too distracted to notice how a little thing like her had pulled his 6.1 frame off the deck without any effort.  
  
"I just live down the block, I'll be okay." He went to take a step on his own and wavered, nearly falling until she scooted under his arm to support him.  
  
"Oh no you don't." Buffy frowned up at him, noticing his pallor with concern. He really didn't look too good. "Maybe we should get you to a hospital – what you think?"  
  
Daniel shook his head emphatically, wincing at the nausea and shimmering of vision that small motion caused. Maybe he did need a doctor, but if he went to a normal hospital Janet and Jack, as well as General Hammond would be even more pissed. No, he would go home and give Janet a ring, that's what he'd do.  
  
"No hospital – but if you could help me home, I've got a doctor friend I could call."  
  
Buffy frowned up at him, undecided, part of her tempted to just drag him to the nearest hospital despite his protestations, the other part swayed by the anxiety that showed in those bright blue eyes. God she was a sucker for cute slightly dishevelled men.  
  
"Okay I can do that. Personally I think you should be heading to the hospital but if you'd don't want to,"he felt her shrug under his arm, "I won't force you." She wrinkled her nose in a little grimace. "I'm not exactly the biggest fan of hospitals myself."  
  
"Thanks." His voice was breathy with pain but relieved and she smiled slightly at the gratitude in his tone.  
  
"No biggy. Now where's this apartment of yours?"  
  
"It's just down the street – this way." Lolling slightly from side to side like a pair of drunks as Buffy attempted to compensate for the man's greater height the two progressed slowly down the alley to his home.  
  
"Eumphh." Daniel grunted as she eased him down on his couch as gently as possible, closing his eyes and willing the world to stop spinning. His headache, had if it was possible got even worse over the last few minutes and the face of his rescuer was only a pale coloured blur and a brief impression of blond hair. But despite that he was getting a strange nagging feeling like he knew her and his aching brain had seized upon this presumption and was worrying at it ferociously, despite the fact that he could hardly sit upright without wanting to be sick. He groaned as another wave of nausea overtook him and he felt a cool weight as the girl gently pressed a wet washcloth to his forehead.  
  
Buffy was worried. The guy seemed to be getting worse and her elementary medical skills weren't up to providing a solution. Grabbing his phone from the side table she gently shook his shoulder.  
  
"Ehhmm..." god she didn't even know his name. "Guy? Buddy? – I really think we should get your doctor friend over here. I need the number."  
  
Daniel bit back another groan and managed to stammer out Janet's number between gulps as he fought to keep his stomach where it belonged. Thankfully the phone was picked up on the second ring, a woman answering.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Hi – I've got a friend of yours here who sort of needs your help."  
  
"Who is this?" The tone was brisk and reminded Buffy of her Mom, the no nonsense approach giving her heart a nostalgic twinge. She took a deep breath, banishing the memories.  
  
"I'm here at 275 Forestview, Apartment B, and I've got a guy here that says you're a Doctor. I found him beaten up on the street, and he doesn't want to go to a hospital..."  
  
She heard the intake of breath on the other end. "Daniel? Are you there?"  
  
Buffy nudged the supine figure on the couch gently until the slits of blue eyes opened.  
  
"Is your name Daniel?"  
  
At his nod she turned her attention back to the woman on the phone. "Yeah, he says his name's Daniel. He's got a pretty bad concussion and a scalp wound and he keeps being sick – can you help?"  
  
She could hear the flurry of movement on the other end of the phone as the doctor charged around her place, probably packing up supplies. "I'll be there within fifteen minutes – can you stay until then?"  
  
Her question was peremptory, the tone that of someone used to command and Buffy to her surprise found herself agreeing to stay until the doctor – Janet-turned up.  
  
"Just keep him lying flat and put cool clothes on his head, oh and you might need a bucket nearby."  
  
Buffy grimaced as she peeked at the grey-green pallor of the semi conscious man lying beside her. "I think we're past that point. Anything that could have come up already has."  
  
She could hear the sympathetic little clucking noise on the other end of the phone, followed by a sigh of resignation.  
  
"Typical Daniel. I should have known that six months without a concussion was too much too ask."  
  
Buffy raised her eyebrows in surprise as she looked over at her casualty. God was this guy accident prone or what? Janet's tone changed back to brisk and impersonal as she quickly rattled off her mobile number just in case of a change in Daniel's condition in the next 15 minutes. Then with a terse, "Thanks" she was gone.  
  
Buffy put the phone back turning around to see the guy – Daniel- trying vaguely to sit up. She immediately put a gentle hand out to push him back onto the couch.  
  
"No, don't get up. Janet says you're to lie still. She'll be here soon."  
  
This seemed to reassure him and he slumped back onto the couch with a groan, closing his eyes in relief when Buffy gently put another wet cloth on his forehead. For a few minutes the apartment was silent apart from the sounds of their breathing and she took a moment to look around. Wow - this guy was an even bigger pack rat than Giles and by the look of it was in something of the same line of work.  
  
Rows of shelves covered the walls from floor to ceiling, crammed with books in the way of the compulsive horder, volumes piled on top of volumes, crammed in sideways when space ran out, in piles on the floor and on tables. The books were interspersed with strange statutes, old bowls, mysterious pieces of metal and pottery, like an alchemists junkshop, and on the little exposed wall a few photographs, mostly black and white and faded sepia shared the space with some drawings and a beautiful old map, which she thought might be of Egypt. It was crowded and comfortable although she noticed a thin layer of dust everywhere as though he didn't spend much time here and she couldn't help comparing it wistfully with the Spartan sterility of her room in Cleveland and her flat in London, both of which were more like hotel rooms than spaces that reflected her personality. After Sunnydale and then again after Angel had died and she had gone on retreat to Nepal she had lost the ability to personalise her space, finding comfort in the emptiness that so echoed the spaces within her. But now the sight of this crowded apartment gave her a heartbeat of something alarmingly like desire, a wistful pang at the ideas of comfort and familiarity it evoked. Thankfully at that moment Daniel groaned again and she hastily turned her attention back to him, not wanting to descend into the depths of introspection.  
  
"Hey buddy – how do you feel?"  
  
Daniel was slipping in and out of consciousness, one minute aware of being in his apartment on his couch and the next moment feeling as though he was on Abydos walking the sands, or in Egypt with his parents, or in the commissary with his team. But a soft voice was talking to him, the tone gently cajoling and he found himself focusing in on it, letting it bring him back to the here and now with the pain in his head and the cool feeling of a damp cloth against his skin.  
  
"Daniel? Daniel...I don't think you should fall asleep now. Janet said you should stay awake and I only talked to the woman for a minute but I don't think you want her pissed at you."  
  
He couldn't help but smile a little at that, the merest upwards twitch of lips and encouraged, Buffy chattered on, trying to use her voice as an anchor to hold him to consciousness. He really was kind of cute, even sick like this and she bet that when he was up and about those baby blue eyes were heartbreaking. But she didn't let herself think like that anymore. It always caused too much pain as she knew from experience. She had learned over the last 10 years that in her line of work it was better to be detached. Attachment only led to love and that inevitably led to pain and then death. Better to remain in a bubble 'cause then no one can get to you. However the fact that it also meant that she couldn't reach out to anyone had occasionally crossed her mind as well but it was a thought she thoroughly squashed whenever it reared its ugly head.  
  
He was mumbling to himself now and she leaned in closer to listen, his voice strangely hypnotic.  
  
"Sand...in my boots. Jack – any pie? I'm not allowed to help......Sam will have coffee...Sha're..."  
  
The last was said in a tone of such sadness and she frowned as she saw the random tears leaking from the corners of his closed eyes, running down to pool in his temples. Strangely disturbed by this silent grief she put a gentle hand on his cheek, her skin cool against his that was already starting to burn with fever as his body ramped up its attempts to deal with the injury.  
  
"Hey, hey, Daniel...it's okay now, it's okay."  
  
He turned his head a minuscule amount towards her and opened his eyes just a crack, Siamese blue peering out through the gaps.  
  
"Do I know you?" His voice was rough and crusty but she was so relieved to see him in the here and now that she broke into a smile.  
  
"No – I don't think so. We just met remember? The alleyway? The two guys?"  
  
He frowned, still staring at her, "Yeah..."  
  
He sounded unconvinced and stared blearily at her for a few more minutes, obviously trying to place her. She smiled back, faintly bemused by his current focus but more than willing to be stared at if it kept him in the here and now until Janet got there. For a moment they simply inspected each other, Daniel trying in vain to see anything beyond a blur of blond hair, pale skin and those haunting mint green eyes, trying to place that feeling of aching familiarity that just wouldn't go away despite his logical brain's assertion that he really had never seen this woman before in his life, Buffy simply examining the clean lines of cheekbones and strong chin, the long golden lashes and the soft curve of his mouth. God – again – he was cute. And she had to get her mind out of the gutter. He was injured for Christ's sake – he wouldn't appreciate being gawped at like a piece of meat. Not to mention that his inevitable lady or gentleman friend certainly wouldn't appreciate it either. Although by the looks of the dust in this place he certainly lived alone. Her mind was abruptly pulled back on track by a small noise of satisfaction from the couch, followed by a gasp.  
  
"I do know you! I do!"  
  
She smiled slightly, humouring the concussed man. "I doubt it. But if you want to think so..."  
  
He overrode her denial, the memories suddenly spilling into his mind so sharp and bright that he struggled to sit up, lost in the power of them.  
  
"Whoa, whoa, you just stay back down." She put a hand on his chest to restrain him and he stopped transfixed, staring at her out of suddenly wide open blue eyes.  
  
"You were there – in the light. When it was other – I remember, you were there!"  
  
Buffy stopped her gentle shoving as though an off switch had been flicked, shocked to her core, but he didn't stop talking, words pouring out of him in a tumbled rush so eager was he to get it out while the elusive memories of his Ascension were still present.  
  
"It was quiet in that place and peaceful and there was someone else there, someone you loved, and you were laughing...you had flowers in your hair."  
  
Holding her green eyes wide Buffy fought to stop the tears that immediately threatened to and then did overflow, falling down her cheeks in a torrent as he with a few careless words ripped apart the carefully constructed barriers that had allowed her to go on living for the last five years after her friends had unintentionally ripped her from heaven. The aching desire that still lurked in a corner of her soul for the one place where everything had been perfect, the ultimate reward, poured into the rest of her, wracking her body as the sheer emptiness of her life in comparison to the bliss that her death had given her overwhelmed her and she pulled her hand back from his body like it was on fire, holding it to her mouth to stifle her sobs.  
  
Daniel couldn't see her face but he could hear her grief and overwhelmed with remorse at the pain he had inadvertently caused he reached out blindly to her face, wiping away the ceaseless tears with his fingers.  
  
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to make you cry, please don't..."  
  
He could hardly hear her through her sobs but somehow she managed to get it out. "It's so dark here..."  
  
And somehow he knew she wasn't talking just about the night sky that was encroaching on the windows of the apartment. She was still crying and he kept wiping away her tears, desperate to reassure her.  
  
"I know, but it doesn't have to be. There's light here, and joy, we just have to find them."  
  
"But it's not the same!" she almost wailed, the sound of a broken heart apparent in every waver in her voice. He closed his eyes again at the sheer weight of despair in her voice, acknowledging the truth in her words.  
  
"No. It's not. But it's our duty to keep on going here until they let us go back. That's just the way it is."  
  
He could feel her nodding between his palms, the salt of her tears cool against his hot skin and she opened her mouth as if to say something. But then the door bell rang and she wrenched herself away abruptly, leaving him careering dizzily back against the couch, strangely bereft.  
  
He could hear the sound of voices, the girl's and the familiar astringent tones of Stargate Command's Chief Medical Officer as she bustled up to him. And then he was encompassed by the hurricane that was Janet Fraiser at work as she called Jack and tended to him simultaneously. And by the time he had breath enough to ask where his mysterious rescuer was he was told she had gone, vanished into thin air, leaving him with a strange aching sense of loss and a desperation to find out exactly how she could have been there when he was ascended.  
  
For Buffy herself, from the moment she had let the dark haired Doctor in all she wanted to do was run. Run as far away as possible from this gentle man with his blue eyes that seemed to understand so much and who had ripped apart her carefully constructed armour like it was tissue paper leaving her bare and bleeding underneath. She couldn't be here, not now. She was aware that the Medical Officer had given her a sharp eyed look, seeing the redness of her eyes and the blotchiness of her cheeks when she arrived but she hadn't commented or questioned her at all apart from a few queries about Daniel's injuries and then had left her alone, too focused on her patient to notice when Buffy quietly slipped out the front door and down the stairs. She just wanted to get away, away from this town, away from this man, and especially away from the feelings that were rising in her like a Phoenix, burning away the debris of detachment and isolation and making her feel in a way she had fought so hard to avoid ever since Sunnydale disappeared and then Angel died. 


	3. Chapter 2

Thank you so much for all your reviews! It's lovely that you think this story is worth continuing, and I'm especially flattered by the other talented writers who have left encouragement – cheers guys! . By the way I have no beta so any notes on spelling; grammer etc would be gratefully received.  
  
Sigma  
  
Chapter 2  
  
Daniel sighed. The runes in front of him had long ago blurred into indecipherability but despite that he had stuck with it, refusing to let them get the better of him. But that had been three hours ago. Now his eyes were aching and his head was beginning to pound, no relief available even when he rubbed a roughed hand across his eyes.  
  
Admitting temporary defeat he stood up and stretched, grimacing as the kinks in his lower back made their protests known. Getting too old for this Danny Boy. Jack's chiding tones ran through his head for a moment and he smiled wryly in acknowledgement. Maybe he was getting too old for the amount of sheer abuse he regularly put his system through but he still thought the job he did was worth the pain. He frowned down at the elusive translation and grudgingly admitted that his mind was really not on his work. In fact it was nowhere even in the vicinity of his work. He stretched again and ambled out the door. Maybe coffee would help. Coffee usually helped everything else.  
  
The corridors of Cheyenne Mountain were deserted as was usual at this point in the graveyard shift, most of the personnel off duty or snatching the opportunity to grab a few moments rest while the threat board remained green, so he saw no one as he padded past endless grey walls on autopilot, searching for the elusive coffee, his mind slipping automatically back to the subject he had kept returning to over and over again over the last three weeks since he had been attacked in that alleyway.  
  
She had been so elusive and his concentration had been so disastrously wrecked at the time that if he hadn't had Janet to back him up he might had given in to the polite scepticism that lurked in Sam and Teal'c's eyes when he tried to describe her or the snort of sheer disbelief that the subject elicited from Jack whenever it came up and agreed that she must have been a figment of his concussed imagination. The Colonel had jokingly labelled the mysterious blond as "Daniel's mystery mirage" and refused to take his tale seriously, even with Janet's evidence that yes, some blond girl had been present at the apartment when she had arrived, and yes Janet had spoken to her.  
  
Admittedly Daniel might have had a little better luck if he hadn't started to babble about how he knew her from when he was ascended and she had been in Heaven.  
  
The minute that little detail had come out his CO's expression had gone from cautiously helpful to rock hard stubborn. Jack really didn't like to talk about the period during which Daniel had been gone, he especially didn't like it when little errant bits of memory slipped back to his archaeologist when they had been assured that Jackson wasn't meant to remember anything about when he was ascended and by adding on a triple whammy in the shape of a girl who had been in Heaven and was now back on earth Daniel knew he had just lost any chance of a genuine hearing from all three of them. But despite his eventual silence on the matter he couldn't shake her from his head, the touch of her hand, the softness of her voice, and the feel of her tears on his fingers. If only he could remember her face....it was so frustrating.  
  
He shook his head like a dog shedding water, irritation pouring off him in waves. It just wouldn't leave him alone and he could tell his work was suffering. Even if no one else had noticed he knew the normal razor sharp focus of his concentration had blunted slightly, too many of his thoughts preoccupied by his mysterious rescuer. Even Sam and Jack had begun to cast the occasional concerned glance his way, as his preoccupation made him even more abstracted than normal. In fact judging by the looks the two of them kept giving each other he knew he better find some way to sort this out himself soon or he would be the victim of yet another infamous Jack O'Neill "intervention".  
  
Admittedly even the worst of those tended to only consist of dragging him out from under the mountain to a local bar, getting him thoroughly wrecked and then forcing him to eat pizza and watch ice hockey, (or Star Wars if Teal'c was involved) but it was the very fact that Jack might think that one was necessary and that Sam wasn't about to intervene to stop him that was telling. He had to get a handle on this soon or he would soon be subject to such a smothering blanket of concern from both of them that he would never get any time on his own. Sometimes the two of them acted more like surrogate parents than team mates. His mouth quirked at the corners at the thought as his feet automatically turned into the corridor leading to the infirmary. Janet always had coffee.  
  
She did, but unfortunately she was also there to guard it. He vainly attempted to back-pedal out of her line of sight as soon as he saw the dark head bent over her notes but she caught the movement out of the corner of her eye and fastened him with a gimlet stare of disapproval, leaving him with the absurd urge to shuffle his feet like a school boy caught in some indiscretion. He attempted to leaven the situation with one of his best smiles, but no, the disapproving stare never wavered. Damn. It always worked on the nurses.  
  
"Daniel."  
  
How could such a small woman put so much disapproval in one word? It was a mystery to him. Even Jack was regularly quelled by her and he was in a whole other league of tough. But Janet was from another dimension of tough. Which now he thought about it was certainly a possibility....  
  
"Daniel!" Whoops. Caught wandering again. Hopefully another smile would alleviate the situation.  
  
"Yes, Janet?"  
  
She glared at him for a second more and then shook her head and sighed in exasperation, breaking eye contact for a second. Daniel immediately seized on the small tactical advantage and adroitly manoeuvred closer to the coffee pot. Strategy. It was all about strategy. After all he had learned some things from working with Jack for over a decade.  
  
"Didn't I tell you this afternoon to go home and sleep in your own bed for once?"  
  
Her tone was worryingly reasonable and he glanced over his shoulder at her as he hastily filled up his mug, narrowly missing pouring hot coffee all over his hand.  
  
"Yes, but I had this translation to do from PX-704, and then Johnson, the tech with SG-12 was having some problems with an artefact and then Sam asked me to..." he trailed off as he noticed the gimlet stare was back, even worse than before. Maybe he should just shut up now.  
  
"Daniel, there is always a translation or a problem or some other excuse."  
  
She glared at him for a few more seconds while he stood frozen, feeling like one of those gazelles on the Discovery Channel facing a predator. Although come to think about it Janet did have a certain lion like aspect to her character, oohh no his mind was wandering again. Coffee Jag. He blinked down at his mug, the "Astrophysicists do it in black holes" inscription (it had been a present from Sam) almost covered by his enveloping fingers and tried to get his scrambled brain back in order.  
  
"That's it." His head shot up. That tone of voice from the SGC Chief Medical Officer was never a good thing.  
  
"What?"  
  
She scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it to him.  
  
"Official orders. I want you off the base for 24 hours – without taking any of your work with you."  
  
He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off with a dismissive wave of a hand.  
  
"Can it Daniel. It's either this or, "she smiled slowly showing far too many teeth for his peace of mind, "I drug you up with sleeping pills and lock you up in the infirmary with a guard." She grinned even more brightly at him. "Your choice." She smiled toothily at him, her expression implacable and he knew that nothing would shift her. Not smiles, not arguments not even a lethal level application of his big blue eyes. God she was a hard woman and he was sure she got some kind of twisted pleasure out of this.  
  
He slumped his shoulders in acknowledgment of defeat.  
  
"Okay, okay. I'll go."  
  
Maybe if he just got out of her line of sight he could just sneak back to his office and she wouldn't be any the wiser. Oh so casually he started moving towards the door.  
  
"Yes, you will. Airman!"  
  
It only took a few seconds for another head to appear around the doorway and his heart sank as Janet levelled another of those scary smiles at the unsuspecting participant.  
  
"Yes, Ma'am?"  
  
"Please see that Dr Jackson is escorted off the premises will you? He can stop by his office to pick up his jacket, but he is not, I repeat not to be allowed to take any of his papers with him. And please leave notice at the gate that barring an emergency he is not to be allowed back on base for 24 hours, starting from now."  
  
The airman's face was a mask as he struggled not to smile, looking from the implacable visage of the CMO to the faintly sulky one of Dr Jackson. Fraiser and Jackson's running battles over his lack of downtime were a source of great amusement on base and it looked as if the Doc had just won this round.  
  
"Yes, Ma'am." He nodded his head to Dr Jackson, unable to keep the smirk from hovering around the corners of his mouth.  
  
"Come on Dr J. Time to go home."  
  
Daniel heaved a martyred sigh, nodded as politely as possible to the now faintly smug CMO and then stalked out followed by the by the now quietly snickering airman. God, sometimes he really hated working for the military.  
  
He threw himself down on his couch, shifting slightly as his muscles protested the violent treatment. It was 4am, he had just driven back from the Mountain and with the resignation borne of past experience he knew that it would be hours before his circadian rhythms allowed him to crash. And until then he would be bored, bored, bored. He pulled himself up, pacing around the room, desperate for diversion. The problem was that he spent so little time in his apartment that any thing he was working on automatically stayed at SGC. That, combined with the fact that at the base there was always food that he didn't have to cook, the presence of his team mates and friends and usually suitably strong coffee that could be filched from a number of sources, amounted to the main reasons why he spent so much of his life there in the first place. And when Jack frequently lectured him on how he should get a life he logically pointed out that he had a life – it was just all up at the mountain rather than down in the town. That excuse admittedly never held much water with his best friend who knew all the other little niggardly reasons why he preferred to spend as little time as possible in his apartment but it usually got him off the hook for long enough that Jack would drop the subject. At least until the next time.  
  
Dawn was already threatening to steal onto the horizon, the velvet of the night sky lightening almost imperceptibly through the window as he pulled the blind shut, resigned to yet another day of vampire like slumber. It had been days since he had seen the sun on Earth but he didn't miss it all that much, preferring the deep peace that night could bring, those small hours when the only sound in his office was the low classical music on the CD player, the occasional burble from the coffee pot and the steady tap of the keyboard. Despite its reputation for being dead mans hour, when the human body was at its lowest ebb he had always found 4am to be one of his most productive periods, thoughts percolating and condensing in an unwitting imitation of his Mr Coffee. But now thanks to the lovely Dr Frasier's unwanted intervention he was stuck at home when he could be working. With nothing to do.  
  
Grumbling, he pulled a book from a shelf at random and tossed it onto the couch, wandering through to the kitchen, mentally thanking Sam for her recent insistence that he keep at least some food in the house, even if it was only microwave popcorn. After he had his most recent concussion Jack had as expected read him the riot act, especially where wandering around the streets of Colorado Springs alone at midnight was concerned. Then he had dragged him down to the local Walmart and made him stop up on every from of frozen, long life and dried snack food they had as well as providing him with a veritable sheaf of takeout menus. Misplaced concern, platonic guy-guy love and Daniel had borne it all with good grace, understanding the reasoning behind his friend's care and feeling guilty for causing the worry that was fuelling it.  
  
Grabbing Doritos and nuking a tub of popcorn he dumped it all beside the couch, slumping bonelessly onto his preferred sleeping place. He didn't like his bed very much; hell he didn't like his bedroom. Too empty and far too lonely. The couch and the low hum of the TV to lull him to sleep were just fine. Talking of the TV, where was the remote anyway? The damn thing was elusive. But then the last time he had occasion to use his TV had been about a month ago, a week before his latest injury and his encounter with her. Right on this couch. Or beside it to be accurate. He stuffed a popped corn into his mouth and chewed. Who was that girl? Why was she so sad? And more to the point how on earth could he have known her from Heaven when she was so clearly alive and present on earth? Did angels really walk among us? Was that it? If only he could remember....He shoved some more popcorn into his mouth, scowling in disgust at his meandering thoughts. He had to let it go. There was no way for him to contact her, no way to find out the answer to any of his questions, no way for to even know what she looked like or if she even really existed. She was a mirage like Jack had said and he had to let it go.  
  
Determined to focus on the here and now he shifted the cushions and systematically disarrayed the couch, but no remote. Maybe it was on the floor underneath the furniture. Reaching underneath the couch base he groped one handed around the floor, still awkwardly perched half on and half off the cushions, hair hanging upside down, the blood rushing to his face. There something thin and plastic and beside it – ahah! Triumph! Curling his fingers around both items, somewhat dusty from their long sojourn in darkness he levered himself upright again settling back on to the cushions with a sigh of relief.  
  
Flicking on the TV with the remote he nodded in satisfaction and turned his attention to whatever the other thing was that he'd found under the couch – and then nearly lost it again immediately when he dropped it down the side of the couch in sheer surprise. Swearing a blue streak he pulled the cushions away to grab it again, holding the small plastic card almost reverently. Hah – let Jack say she was a mirage now. For what he was holding was a clear plastic Cleveland public library card and staring out from it was the cool expressionless face of a woman he was willing to swear on his life was his mysterious rescuer, the small picture poised above a name emblazoned across the card. Buffy. Buffy Anne Summers. 


	4. Chapter 3

Just like to say thanks to Lisette, Charmed Chick and the other great reviewers who are encouraging me to continue – it's really helping me keep the impetus going. And Lisette – I am trying to remember that the comma is indeed my friend!  
  
Cheers  
  
Sigma  
  
**Chapter 3**  
  
It was the light, seeping through the gaps in the blind with insidious fingers that finally woke her up, spilling across white cotton and causing her to bury her head under the pillows with a groan. But it was insistent and eventually she pulled herself out of bed, padding across stripped wooden floors warmed by the light, the wood giving slightly under her feet, comforting against her bare skin.  
  
It was very quiet in her flat, the bare minimalism and the lack of furniture that should have echoed every sound instead somehow hushed them, giving the whole place an ambience that was closer to that found in a church or a shrine, rather than the normal habitat of a twenty something woman. But this was her place, her haven and her refuge, and the almost contemplative silence acted as a balm to a spirit that was often in sore need of it.  
  
The light was bright outside and she winced as she pulled open the curtains in the living room, hooking them back as she unlocked the French doors and yanked them ajar. The sun poured in eagerly followed by the distant sound of traffic and the far louder and closer yakking of the birds in the garden as a number of them tried to engage in a territorial dispute.  
  
She slipped out on to the balcony, the concrete cool and rough under her toes and leaned on the railings, just enjoying the view for once, the cool, green beauty of the garden below and the myriad colours of the heath beyond it, its boundaries already shimmering at the edges with the promise of another hot day to come. London in August. The dog days of summer, stretching out across a city that treated every warm day as a potential holiday, and which despite the increasing frequency of such heat waves over the last few years steady fastedly refused to do anything sensible about dealing with them, such as installing air conditioning as standard. It was a very British way to deal with things – just ignore it and it would go away.  
  
It was strange she mused, how aware you became of the weather when you moved out of California. There she had almost taken the sun for granted and it was only when Sunnydale had been destroyed and they had taken up the watch over the Cleveland Hellmouth that she had started paying attention to the Weather Channel. And it was only after Nepal that she had really gained an understanding of exactly how deadly snow and cold could be. She rotated one shoulder lazily, feeling the slight residual stiffness that was the only mark left of what could have been a terminal lesson in exactly how deadly snow and ice, and their respective demons, could be. But at least she didn't ever have to worry about freezing to death any more. Oz had taught her how to deal with that.  
  
Her mouth lifted in a fond smile at the thought of her friend. There had been an email from him waiting for her when she finally had got back to London last week, he having finally persuaded the monks that being on the web was not in conducive to achieving enlightenment. In typical, laconic style he had mentioned briefly how he and his assorted pack of monks, werewolves and shamans had driven off a pack of Lor'cha demons that attacked the monastery, and also how he had finally just about mastered the finer elements of cooking mixed vegetable Tarkari, giving equal weight to both events. Balance. As he kept telling her it was all about balance. Something that she at times sorely lacked.  
  
She pushed off from the railings with a sigh and went in, to start the next part of her morning routine.  
  
Putting aside her morning coffee she stretched out on the mat, moving through the set of kata poses that she and Oz had established so long ago and far away, where the wind whistling through the halls of a monastery hidden on the roof of the world. Then she slipped down into the lotus position and sank down into herself, seeking that core, that deep peace of stillness that her friend had taught her to look for, hidden far below the tumult of her heart. Sometimes, when she was really deep in herself it was as if she felt his hands on hers, a brief flash of the slight smile and the calm approbation of the wolf man, who was in all honesty the only person these days that she trusted without reservation. And once or twice when she had gone deeper still, she had been sure she felt warmth and the presence of others who reached out to touch her, part glimpses of lovers passed, the brief caress of the loved dead. But despite all the times she had tried she could never touch back. She always surfaced from such trances with tears pouring down her cheeks but it was moments of such piercing clarity that kept her searching and praying. Anything not to feel so alone.  
  
It could have been an hour, or only five minutes but as she started to surface again she knew there was someone in the apartment with her. The combination of high end security and the ward spells that she had one of the Devon Coven witches place on the apartment meant that it wasn't going to be someone physical or with malicious intent. Consequently she allowed herself to finish the last few stages of her meditation before she opened cool green eyes, tipping her head back to survey the semi-familiar figure standing in her living room, only a raised eyebrow telegraphing her surprise.  
  
"Whistler."  
  
The balance demon chewed on his cigar and nodded to her in greeting.  
  
"Slayer."  
  
For a moment they just looked at each other, Buffy noticing how little he had changed from the first time they had met, Whistler seeing the changes that time had wrought on the petite body of the original Slayer, the faint hint of scars under golden skin, the clean lines of her face, the softness that had been so prevalent transmuted into something hard and beautiful over time. Blondie was looking good, at least physically, taut muscles sleek under silken skin, the plain white yoga pants and vest top causing her skin and hair to glow golden in contrast. But it was the eyes that worried him. Cool green and absolutely neutral. No joy, no love, no sorrow. Just blank. And from a woman who used to draw strength from the power of her emotions it was a worrying development. He chewed on his cigar anxiously. The Powers needed her in top shape for this next assignment and just now it looked like she was running on empty.  
  
Buffy glanced to one side, breaking the deadlock and sighed. When she turned back some of her weariness must have shown on her face, because for a moment she thought she caught a flicker of something almost like compassion on the demon's face before he slipped back behind his usual sardonic mask.  
  
"What do you want, Whistler?"  
  
He almost winced at the resigned note in her voice. Usually by now she would have been all spit and fire, but now she was just ashes.  
  
"The Powers need you to do a job for them, Slayer."  
  
She raised a cynical eyebrow and stretched out her legs, slipping into a split, feeling the pull in the tendon she had strained yesterday.  
  
"Why me? There are a lot of other candidates for the Powers to mess with these days."  
  
She was referring of course to the other 480 slayers that the newly resurrected Watchers Council International had identified and brought into the fight after the destruction of Sunnydale. Surprisingly the numbers seemed to hover around the 500 mark despite natural, at least for slayers, attrition, girls hitting puberty and gaining abilities as others fell in the fight. Even with the weight of numbers slayers still died, just not so many and not so young. No body ever said the life of a slayer was meant to be an easy one or long lasting.  
  
Buffy shifted again, pushing her forehead down to her knees, then to the ground before straightening to fix the balance demon with an irritated stare. He shrugged her ire off easily, unbothered.  
  
"You know why, Slayer. We had this discussion."  
  
Buffy glanced away again, reluctant to acknowledge the truth of his words, but forced to nevertheless. She remembered that "discussion", or screaming row if she was to be honest, with Whistler explaining how the spell that Willow had cast was only effective through her, rather than being as she had previously hoped, a way to activate each slayer on an individual basis. She smiled sardonically. Despite all her struggling to throw of the mantle she was still "the "Slayer, the source and fountain, and it would only be with her death that the pure Slayer power would dissipate through all the other slayers without going through her first. Which to be honest, kind of sucked. And also put paid to any thoughts of a happy semi- retirement. And even though sometimes she had contemplated it in the early hours of the morning, suicide was anathema to her. Not to mention that such a selfish act would probably bar her from the Heavens she still dreamed of. So she was stuck. Stuck as the Slayer and stuck on Earth – her purgatory.  
  
She shrugged.  
  
"So? So what? The Powers think I'm special. Well whoop de do. Let them go and find another dog to jump through hoops for them."  
  
She knew she was behaving like a brat but to be honest she couldn't care less, an almost incoherent rage beginning to bubble up inside her from the depths of her soul. How dare they come to her with yet another thinly disguised order? What did they want her to sacrifice now? Her friends? Done that. Her lover? Done that as well. Her life? Done that twice. Didn't she deserve some peace? Why couldn't one of the other hundreds of slayers take over the burden for once? Why couldn't she just rest?  
  
"Slayer."  
  
The demon's voice held just an edge of reproof and she glared up angrily, noticing with abstract satisfaction how he winced away from the fury in her eyes.  
  
For his part Whistler was almost glad to see the rage, even if it was directed at him at the moment. Anything was better than that dreadful dead neutrality. She would need all that fire and more in the months to come. He shrugged at her unspoken accusations, continuing as though he hadn't noticed her show of emotion.  
  
"You're the Champion, Slayer. Them's the breaks. None of the others can take up that mantle. Not even if you die. They may be slayers, but you're still the Slayer. It's your job to hold the balance."  
  
He glanced down at her, noticing how those mint green eyes darkened as she was reminded of the likely fate of all Champions, and especially that of the most recent, her ex-lover, Angel. He watched her swallow and then raise her chin stubbornly, refusing to give in to the pain welling just beneath the surface.  
  
"Spill it. That's what you're here for, isn't it? Just dump the misery in my lap and bugger off."  
  
Whistler raised an eyebrow at the very British profanity. Obviously the Slayer's time with William the Bloody had left an imprint. He pulled the cigar from his lips.  
  
"The Powers wanted me to warn you. There's a big evil coming soon, but not a normal one like you're used to dealing with. This one comes from outside our normal sphere of operations and you're going to have to work with some pretty unusual people to get it done."  
  
He ignored her snort of disbelief at the mention of unusual people. Admittedly the people she dealt with on a day to day basis tended to be pretty unusual, but this was a whole different ball game.  
  
"Listen to me here, toots. This is serious stuff. These creatures want to enslave the planet. It's not just your normal apocalypse stuff. These are the big guns. You'll need an army for this."  
  
She was still looking at him cynically, scepticism pouring off her in waves, but then she shrugged, pushing up from the ground and wandering over to the fridge to pour herself an orange juice. He noticed that she didn't even consider offering him something.  
  
"I've got an army. Let them come. "  
  
She took a slug of juice, staring at him, just daring him to challenge her. He spread his hands placatingly.  
  
"If you say so, Slayer. But I got to tell you, that that army of yours? They're going to need a General."  
  
She looked back at him with burning green eyes and he was suddenly aware of all that she was; all the depths of pain and experience, the thousand fights won and the hundreds lost, the casualties scarred on her soul and the tactics engrained as instinct. What a stupid statement to make. Of course her army had a General. Otherwise what had she been doing to herself over the last 11 years? For that's what she was – Penthesilea - Queen of the Amazons.  
  
She put the emptied glass down on the countertop with a decisive clunk and fixed him with an angry green stare.  
  
"You can tell the Powers that this big threat?"  
  
She shrugged in a supremely Gallic way.  
  
"Bring it on. This is my turf. Let them come and we'll see how many go home again."  
  
And for a moment, staring into those implacable green eyes, Whistler wasn't too sure; who he should be more wary of – the threat to the planet, or the solution.

* * *

Daniel shifted nervously on the sidewalk, switching the wrapped book from one hand to the other and rubbing his suddenly sweaty palm against his pants. The house in front of him was large and imposing, set back from the road with a walled lawn in front of it, and shaded by mature oaks. It breathed peace and money and tranquillity and he suddenly felt a little ridiculous, turning up unannounced like this. He should have just posted his present. But the chance to meet his mysterious rescuer face to face when he wasn't concussed had been too tempting to resist.  
  
He had stalked triumphantly into the SGC; 24 hours after Janet had banned him from base, waving the precious library card like a victory banner. Once Jack and Sam had got over their initial surprise they had immediately pestered him to get in touch with the girl, recognising that without some form of closure Jackson was liable to continue to worry at the problem for weeks. And although the Colonel's eyes still held an element of scepticism regarding the whole Ascension/heaven issue he was at least willing to admit that Daniel's "Mystery Mirage" seemed to have turned out to be a flesh and blood girl after all.  
  
It had only taken a few minutes of Sam at a computer before he had an address and even though he had been tempted, he had declined when Sam offered to dig even further and pull up data on his mystery blond. It had seemed a rather underhand thing to do, investigate her like a suspect when all she had been was a Good Samaritan. Even if she had been a rather unusual one. Instead he had booked a few days leave, an occurrence so unusual that General Hammond's eyebrows had almost taken up residence on the back of his head at the request, and then had taken the first flight to Cleveland. But now he was here he really wasn't sure what to do. Should he simply slip the book through the letterbox and hope she responded to the message left inside? Or should he just knock on the door and introduce himself? After all it seemed rather pointless to come all the way to Cleveland and then not see her just because he hadn't been invited.  
  
No – he should hand it over the book in person and apologise for any trouble he might have caused her. And if she queried why he had come all the way from Colorado to Cleveland just to say thank you – well he already had the business trip cover story down pat. He shifted the book back to his other hand and walked up the gravelled path, taking a minute to admire the beautifully landscaped yard. Somebody had obviously spent a lot of time and effort on it. In fact from the condition of the whole property it was clear that whoever lived there had lavished the place with tender loving care.  
  
He hesitated as he reached the door, noticing the small engraved brass plaque on the wall, the late afternoon sunlight gilding it so he squinted to make out the copperplate writing. "W.C.I – North American Headquarters."  
  
He frowned. The address Sam had pulled up hadn't mentioned this place as anything but a private residence. Perhaps he had the wrong address? But no – this was definitely 36 Sycamore Creek. Stranger and stranger. Maybe she worked as a live in caretaker? Feeling even more foolish he pressed the buzzer twice, hardly expecting anyone to be in. After all it was a Saturday and even the most workaholic office tended to close down on the weekend. Surprisingly soon he heard footsteps thundering down a flight of stairs and then the door swung open, leaving him face to face with a short Asian teenager who immediately started counting out some money.  
  
"So that's the Pepperoni hot, with the extra mushrooms and the mixed vegetable...."  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
She looked up from counting out the cash, did a double take, craned around him to check for a vehicle, a pizza van presumably, then stuffed the money back in her pocket and smiled sheepishly at him.  
  
"Hi – sorry. I thought you were the pizza guy."  
  
She shrugged eloquently in a quintessentially teenage fashion and actually looked at him properly for the first time, taking him in, polite wariness replacing her earlier bounce.  
  
"Can I help you?"  
  
He smiled at her, attempting to look as harmless as possible.  
  
"Yes actually. I'm looking for a Ms Summers. A Buffy Anne Summers. Is she in?"  
  
Her face creased in a frown, fine black brows arching together over almond eyes.  
  
"Who's asking?"  
  
Yup – she was definitely suspicious now.  
  
"My name's Daniel Jackson. I met Ms Summers about a month ago and I was wondering..." his voice trailed off as she turned in the doorway and yelled down the hall.  
  
"Xander!"  
  
She then turned back and fixed him with a repressively pointed finger.  
  
"You. Wait right here. I'll be back."  
  
Caught by surprise he merely nodded dumbly as she shot off like a bolt of energy back into the house. A few minutes of opened doors and yells followed before two sets of feet padded back along the hall towards the door. This time when the Asian girl eeled around the doorjamb she was followed by an older man, with an eyepatch over one eye and short black hair. A keen brown eye gave him the once over and then the older man gently shoed the younger girl away.  
  
"It's okay Kaylie. I can handle this."  
  
The girl – Kaylie, shot Daniel another suspicious look as though she suspected him of being about to cause unwarranted mayhem, and turned back to the older man.  
  
"Are you sure, Xander? 'Cause I could just stay, just in case..."  
  
The man gave her an amused smile and chivvied her away down the hall.  
  
"I'll be fine. I'll yell if I need you."  
  
As she trotted back down the hall, shooting Daniel one last, suspicious stare, the older man turned back to face him, his expression coolly polite.  
  
"I hear you are looking for a Buffy Summers?"  
  
Daniel almost stumbled over his words in his eagerness to get them out. At last – someone who seemed to know his mystery blonde.  
  
"Yes – that's right. I was told she lived here."  
  
The other man frowned slightly. "Who told you? 'Cause we're not exactly in the phonebook."  
  
Daniel smiled sheepishly and proffered the lost library card.  
  
"No one did, actually. She dropped this when I, ehmm, met her."  
  
The other's man's eyebrow shot up in a way that reminded Daniel of Jack, as he took the offered piece of plastic and then he smiled slightly as he saw what it was.  
  
"Hah. Her library card. No wonder she didn't know it was missing." The small smile vanished as looked up again, but he seemed a little more relaxed.  
  
"So, where did you meet Buffy anyway? I don't think I've met you before and I know most of her friends."  
  
Daniel glanced down at the doorstep sheepishly before meeting the other man's gaze once again. "It was in Colorado Springs. She, ehmm, rescued me from some muggers."  
  
For a moment the younger man looked blank and then recognition dawned. "Yeah! She mentioned you. She said you got pretty messed up." He gave Daniel a cursory once over. "You seemed to have healed up nicely."  
  
"I have, thank you. But I appreciate that I got off comparatively lightly. Thanks in a large part to Ms Summers intervening when she did. I just wanted to say thank you."  
  
Xander, stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels slightly, regarding him with a marginally more friendly stare, tinged with amused curiosity. "So."  
  
He drawled.  
  
"Let me get this right."  
  
He raised an eyebrow at Jackson. Yes – definitely amused now.  
  
"You came all the way from Colorado Springs just to say thank you?"  
  
Daniel shrugged slightly, projected unconcerned urbanity with all his might.  
  
"I was in town anyway for business, and I thought I would use the opportunity to thank her in person."  
  
The younger man was clearly not convinced, a slight smirk hovering around the corners of his mobile mouth. But he forbore to pull Daniel up on his story, simply nodding in tacit acceptance. It was one of the few times that Daniel really wished he was a better liar. Jack would have swanned in here and whitewashed the issue so convincingly that he would have ended up believing his own cover story. But Daniel....Daniel flushed and felt guilty and was terribly aware of the truth sitting on the edge of his tongue, just desperate to be spilled.  
  
"So, would it be possible to speak to her?"  
  
Xander looked sympathetic, probably at the slight edge of hope in Jackson's tone, but shook his head.  
  
"Sorry, man. She's out of the country just now."  
  
"Oh."  
  
Jackson's shoulders sagged as the nervous adrenalin poured out of him in a rush. He had been so sure...  
  
Xander caught the brief dash of despondency that flashed across the other man's face, and moved by some impulse he couldn't name, he tried to extend a helping hand.  
  
"She'll be back in a few weeks, if you can stay until then, or come back..." his voice trailed off as Daniel shook his head, regret etched across his face.  
  
"I can't. I need to be back at work. And I don't think I'll be able to come here again any time soon."  
  
Xander grimaced. He knew what it was like to build your hopes up to something and then have them dashed.  
  
"Well, if you want to leave a message or something, I'll make sure she gets it."  
  
Normally he wouldn't have bothered Buffy with the random declarations of a stranger who turned up uninvited at the door, unless of course it was prophecy related. But there was just something about this guy, something familiar; a sadness like that all the survivors of Sunnydale seemed to carry with them to a certain extent. This stranger had the same feel, perhaps even to a greater level than most, and somehow the melancholy edge to his eyes brought to mind the deep wistfulness he frequently saw in the Slayer's eyes when she thought he wasn't watching. And anyway he seemed like a nice guy. Pretty good looking as well. Obviously not a vampire due to hello – sun! And the lack of burning. And Buffy needed to expand her social circle. Hell, Buffy needed to have a social circle to expand.  
  
Daniel looked down at the wrapped book in his hand and hesitated. He really had wanted to give it to her in person, but if this was the best option... He held the wrapped present out to the other man, who took it carefully, and rubbed his now free hand across his forehead.  
  
"Can you just tell her – thank you? And that my email is inside the front cover is she wants to get in touch?"  
  
Xander nodded and on impulse stuck out a hand, which after a moment's hesitation Daniel took. They shook and Xander, still moved by that strange sympathy, pulled out a business card from his back pocket and passed it over.  
  
"If you want to come back, you can just give us a call to check if she's here first. I'm Xander Harris. My number's on the card."  
  
Daniel glanced briefly at the card and stuck it firmly in his jeans pocket for later examination.  
  
"Daniel Jackson. Nice to meet you." They exchanged tentative smiles, each man unexpectedly recognising someone who could potentially be a friend in the other. Daniel smiled again, a little wistfully and turned to go, but Xander's voice stopped him half way down the path.  
  
"See you later Daniel. Hope you enjoy the rest of your business trip."  
  
He turned back to find Harris smiling at him again, the wry edge now tempered with something like sympathy. Daniel raised a hand in acknowledgment and continued down the path. If he was lucky later would be sooner. But knowing his luck....he signed to himself. It looked like his mystery blonde would remain mysterious for a little bit longer...

* * *

A few days later Buffy unwrapped an airmail parcel from Cleveland, containing a small parcel with an attached note in Xander's messy and angular scrawl.  
  
_Buffy.  
  
A guy came to the door to deliver this. He said his name was Daniel Jackson and that you knew him from Colorado Springs. He just wanted to say thank you 'cause you helped him out. He said his email's in the book if you want to get in touch. He seemed like a nice guy. Maybe you should?  
  
Hope the London weather is good. It's as sticky as all hell here (no pun intended).  
  
See you soon,  
  
Xander  
_  
She pulled the wrapped parcel out gingerly, slayer strength making short work of the paper and turned it over. It was a small hard back, bound in brown leather, quite old by the look of it, with the shabby bashedness that comes from being lovingly handled over a long period of time. She traced the gold letters on the cover wonderingly.  
  
Marcus Aurelius– Meditations.  
  
She flicked open the cover and rifled gently through a few pages, smelling the musty smell of old book. A few lines caught her eye_...." From Apollonius I learned freedom of will and undeviating steadiness of purpose; and to look to nothing else..."_ and her lips quirked in rueful recognition. Intrigued, she turned back to the front page. There was a brief message, obviously newly written, in a bold and curving hand, inked above a carefully printed email address.  
  
_Buffy,  
  
It can't cure the sadness but it can make the weight of it more bearable. If you would like to talk please email me. Earth need not be hell just because it's not heaven.  
  
Thank you for my life.  
  
Daniel Jackson  
_  
Djacksonearth.net.  
  
Buffy read the message again, and then once more. Thank you for my life. How long had it been since someone had said that to her, actually thanked her for anything? Suddenly curious she curled up on the couch, cup of coffee near by and settled down to read.  
  
A few hours later, eyes still slightly bloodshot from an earlier bout of tears, she sat down at her computer and logged onto her email, unsure exactly what she wanted to say, but knowing somehow, that she wanted to reach out for the first time in a very long time.  
  
Carefully she started to type.

_Hi. My name is Buffy Summers. I don't think we were ever formally introduced... _


	5. Chapter 4

Thanks to everyone who reviewed and for your patience in waiting for this next instalment. Over the summer I have moved cities, jobs and houses so I did have a genuine excuse honest! Hopefully I'll be updating more regularly now.

**Chapter 4**

The skull vibrating bellow of the Gate klaxon reverberated through his skull as he padded down the Stargate ramp but Daniel hardly noticed. He was exhausted, he stank and he hadn't had a cup of coffee in days. Not a good combination. Not for any of them. In fact in front of him he could see the slight catch and drag in Jack's gait that revealed that his bad knee was playing up again, something that only usually surfaced when the Colonel was so exhausted that his normally iron self control wavered. But after the mission they had just had even Jack was drained to the edges of his physical endurance.

The mission had been screwed up from the start, SG-1 sent in to try to repair the fiasco that SG-7 had inadvertently caused by accidentally breaking a few of the emergent culture's more highly regarded taboos. Hammond had sent Daniel and SG-1 after them, trying to fix the mess before it escalated. Unfortunately before they had got there some of the more reactionary members of the host culture had decided that two of the members of SG-7 needed tobe sacrificed in order to placate the "gods". So of course SG-1 and the rest of SG-7 had had to go in with guns blazing, even Daniel seeing that diplomacy needed to fall beside the wayside when two of their own were about to ceremonially burnt alive. And with the basic Celtic background of the host culture…well talk about shades of the Wicker Man. The whole thing had seemed so surreal that at times Daniel expected to see Edward Woodward and Christopher Lee pop up from behind a boulder. And then of course they couldn't have a nice steady retreat back to the Gate. No that would have been too easy. Instead they got pursued half way across a continent and across several tribal territories, the various clans involved alternating between joining in pursuing the blasphemers and gleefully taking advantage in order to revenge inter tribal wrongs done generations ago. A sort of vast glorified version of what cousin Angie said about Aunt Gale at cousin Bob's wedding. Basically a gigantic free for all of mass mayhem with the two SG teams having to make a giant loop in order to finally get back to the gate. So what was initially expected to take 4 days had taken three weeks and they had left behind a previously flourishing tribal system which was now on the edges of all out war. Not exactly the SGC's finest hour. In fact if he was being honest there were times that he wasn't sure if it wasn't going to be SG'S 1 & 7's last hour. Some way to go - not heroically battling the Goa'uld but rather sacrificed in a giant special effect wicker man by a culture that had nothing more advanced than iron swords and numbers on their side.

But they had made it, as they always did, SG-1's reputation as un-killable still intact. And they had managed to bring back all the members of SG-7 as well so that was at least one score for the good guys. Even if Johnson's arm was mostly unusable. Hopefully Janet could fix it – she could pretty much fix anything else.

With a subdued sigh of pure exhaustion Daniel padded after Jack to the locker room and as always these days when he wasn't concentrating his mind drifted back to his new e-mail correspondent. It must be nearly 2am in Cleveland and he bet she was probably tucked up warm in bed, fast asleep by now. And at this particular moment he would do almost anything to trade places with her. He bet she didn't ever have to put up with hours like this. But then he supposed the life of a security consultant tended to differ a little in importance compared to fighting the Goul'd and saving the planet. But still….

Lucky girl. Sometimes he really wished he could be in her shoes.

Xander ducked as part of the X'orkin came flying over his head, adroitly dodging the splatters of demon blood goo with the agility that came from long experience. Beside him Eleanor, the newest and youngest slayer assigned to the Cleveland hellmouth twitched and bounced, clearly torn between a natural slayer-ish desire to dive into the fight and the knowledge that interfering now could fatally distract one of the other three slayers currently decimating the pack with such efficiency. Plus she had strict instructions that she was to act as Xander's bodyguard and she knew that if she left her post the wrath of Buffy would rain down on her head and that was something that she very sensibly was extremely reluctant to court. And also there was the fact that she was learning a heck of lot just from watching and listening to Xander's running commentary on the various techniques being used by her sisters in slaying. But oh did she want to fight.

Xander dodged another flying limb and continued his running analysis, sympathetic to the burning desire in his young companions eyes but determined to keep a leash on her despite it. Since Buffy had designed and instituted the organisation wide programme for the initiation and initial training of newly called slayers they had seen fatalities drop by a massive 20. And he wasn't going to botch that record just because Eleanor was twitching to throw herself into her first fight. And as he cast an admiring eye over the forms of the three female figures fighting so effectively, he admitted it wasn't as if they exactly needed the help.

Buffy twisted in mid air; taking the energy of the tentacle that had thrown her and transferring it back against its hapless owner. The scythe danced in her hand, as natural an extension of her body as her arm and the tentacle was perfunctorily parted from its owner, purple blood spraying across her face and shirt as the demon bellowed in fear and pain. Inwardly some part of her twitched in annoyance at the wanton destruction at yet another chunk of her wardrobe but outwardly she was silent as she spun and twisted, swiftly and efficiently decapitating the rest of the demon, letting it join its pack mates in the welter of purple gore and demon flesh that the three slayers had made of this corner of the deserted field over the last 10 minutes. For a second she stood over the corpse and caught her breath, allowing full awareness of those things that her focus on the fight habitually reduced to peripherals to flood in, Kaylie and Sydney still cleaning up the more juvenile members of the pack with habitual energy, Xander almost having to physically restrain Eleanor, so eager and so newly called from joining in as he continued his commentary on the girls work. As she tracked the situation his gaze briefly flashed across hers and he quirked an eyebrow in an acknowledgement that rapidly switched to alarm as he vectored in on a trio of adults that had somehow managed to sneak up on Kaylie and had pinned the teenager in a corner. With a quick glance Buffy checked that Sydney was holding her own with her opponent and then with a nod to Xander she literally flew into the fray, cannon balling into two of the demons and knocking them away from the other slayer who lay winded, before proceeding to destroy them with habitual and almost psychotic silent efficiency, the only sound the slash of blade on flesh, the shrieks of the demons and her occasional panting breath. Wistfully she remembered when she used to joke as she worked but just now the young girl who had quipped as she had slain and mocked her adversaries seemed very far away.

Xander dodged into the edge of the fight and pulled Kaylie up and away by the arm, keeping her balanced between Eleanor and him as the three of them watched Buffy decimate the remaining pack members with characteristic ferocity. There was something strangely compelling about her when she fought like this, a ballet of death so graceful it was almost beautiful, and like all top athletes she made it look so easy, so trivial, as if it wasn't her life on the line with every move she made. He tore his gaze away with an effort and checked out his two charges, Kaylie thankfully seeming little worse the wear despite her near death experience. Just now she didn't even seem to notice her wounds, both girls completely focused on watching the senior slayer in her Kali like dance of destruction. And on their faces were matching expressions of admiration so strong it was almost awe.

Xander bit his bottom lip ruefully, already seeing the signs of the almost cult like hero worship with which the less experienced slayers regarded their older comrade seeping into the youngest slayer's face as she watched the older blonde in action. It was something he and the other Watcher's had hoped to prevent, Giles especially being concerned about its ability to warp the others slayers independence and the effect it would have on moral when Buffy did eventually stop beating the odds that had taken down all her predecessors. But despite all they did to prevent it this odd veneration had slipped in, and Buffy herself while generally ignoring it and certainly not encouraging it had not deliberately set out to dispel it either. And it wasn't helped by her position as Head Trainer or her continuing tendency towards independent action, often acting on Slayer dreams without informing others in the council, simply turning up in the nick of time to help out a beleaguered slayer, or simply destroying the problem before it became a problem with little fanfare, her actions only being apparent days or even weeks later. It drove Giles nuts but she was impervious to his admonishments, simply regarding him with a cool mint green stare and continuing on in the way she had chosen.

On a number of occasions Giles had tried to enlist Xander on this particular crusade, believing that somehow his opinion would have more weight with Buffy than the oldest Watcher's currently did. Or at least hoping that Xander could utilise his permanent position as Watcher to the Cleveland Hellmouth to counter balance and dispel the mythos that had coalesced around the senior Slayer. But Xander was reluctant to get involved, as always seeing the situation from both sides. As Buffy had pointed out to him, and with the benefit of the military mindset that had never really left him after the Halloween incident so long ago, a certain level of command structure could be a desirable thing. As long as it was only utilised in extreme situations when more than two or three slayers were necessary in order to fix the problem. After all part of the reason their fatalities were lower than might otherwise be expected was due to the element of discipline and teamwork that he and Buffy had instituted through the initial training programme. If that meant that in extreme situations he and she had created a system whereby each slayer knew who to listen to and rely on and that eventually they all looked to Buffy as titular general, well it wasn't totally a bad thing. After all one thing that both Xander and Buffy were determined to ensure was that there would never again be a repeat of the Sunnydale First Evil fiasco where the lack of a clear command structure and the in fighting among the group had led to so many unnecessary deaths, and Xander admitted silently, the betrayal of the senior slayer by her friends. And he knew that if Buffy hadn't come back despite that betrayal - probably no more world. But even though she had returned, her friends' actions had shattered the unspoken trust between them, the repercussions still echoing even now, apparent in every unilateral action she made and every barrier she had built up against their tentative overtures.

So Giles could complain all he wanted. Xander wasn't going to mess with what was right and necessary, and more to the point with what worked. Anyway he owed her one and he always would. He wasn't free of his own guilt at the betrayal of a friend.

So he watched in silence as the other slayers drank in her style with respect tinged just slightly with awe, and didn't even comment when he heard Eleanor whisper very quietly - "She's so good" in tones of wonder. And when Buffy had finished off her last opponent and carefully cleaned the purple demon blood from the scythe he let her lead the other slayers home, absentmindedly answering questions as she went, a deadly Pied Piper leaving behind a trail of destruction, with the children following her home.

Buffy leaned back against the closed door of her little apartment within the larger Cleveland house and sighed in relief. Another patrol done, another night finished with no serious injuries or fatalities. Another triumph for the forces of good – well whoopdedoo. She was aware that her attitude was somewhat lacking but couldn't be bothered to extend the effort necessary to pull herself into a more positive frame of mind. She'd had enough of being inspiring and positive for tonight thank you very much.

The rug was soft under her boots and she crossed over to the kitchenette, shedding her jacket onto the couch as she went and hitting the spacebar on her laptop as she passed, the quiet of the room broken as the machine hummed into life, a bright chirp announcing the presence of new email. While it warmed up she changed out of her demon stained clothes, her nose wrinkling in distaste at some of the more out there stains. Eughh – the goo had even got inside her boots. No wonder she had felt as if she was squelching all the way home. Sitting down in front of the laptop she tapped the sequence to access her heavily encrypted personal account, cleaning her boots as she waited while the laptop gamely laboured through the various firewalls and protocols that an ever hacker conscious Willow deemed necessary.

As always when she was physically inactive her mind wandered, and as it often did recently it wandered to a certain archaeologist. Daniel had proved to be an entertaining e-mail correspondent, never ceasing to make her laugh to herself at his description of the characters he met in his travels as a globe trotting archivist and translator for various archaeological projects. In fact if she was lucky he might have finally got back from his most recent trip and there would be an email waiting for her. That would be nice, a change from the normal dry emails from Giles or the slightly less formal ones from Dawn and Willow, all laden with unspoken guilt and weighted with the baggage of emotional expectation. Daniel at least never left her feeling bad about herself, and after the initial shock of their one meeting when he had somehow pierced through all her defences he had had the tact to never push in that direction again, simply focusing on keeping her spirits up. And she, being as anxious as he was not to sever the tentative friendship, had spun a careful web of half truths and lies, shyly laying some of her thoughts and experiences in front of him, currency for a budding relationship. She liked him. It was as simple as that. And she didn't want this friendship, so strangely begun, to disappear under the weight of her duty and her calling as so many had before. So as far as he was concerned she was a security consultant for an international non governmental organisation and she didn't dig too deep into the occasional slips he sometimes made that hinted at a more complicated lifestyle than his official occupation might have led her to expect. Time enough for that later, and she of all people understood about how sometimes full disclosure was not practical or even desirable.

She sighed as she dumped one stained purple boot on the floor next to its abandoned neighbour. Whatever he did she bet he didn't have to put with these kinds of hours or this kind of shit. Or face death on a nightly basis. And she was willing to guarantee that at 3am he would get to be in a nice comfortable bed, like any other normal person. Sometimes she really wished she could be in his shoes.

The email finally opened and her mouth quirked into a small smile as she saw that yes, he was indeed back from parts unknown. She clicked on the message and smiled a little wider as his words blinked into life in front of her. Sleep could wait a little longer, after all what use was a Slayer constitution if you didn't abuse it sometimes?

_Buffy_

_Just got back, sorry about the long delay. I met this guy, he said….._

Smiling slightly she settled down to read the latest adventures of Dr Daniel Jackson, errant archaeologist and linguist, and what ever else he might be hiding, a genuinely nice guy.


	6. Chapter 5

Thanks for all your reviews – I do read them and love getting them! And thanks especially for the detailed reviews – it's nice to know what exactly people like! Again I'm sorry it took so long – life tends to intrude, but I promise you the story is continuing to grow, at least in my mind if not on paper. And I also promise that I do intend to keep going!

Thanks guys!

Sigma.

Chapter 5 

Daniel squinted absently at yet another blond head in the crowd, trying to match the indistinct features to the picture in his head, a muddy composite of library card and concussion addled memory. Nope, too tall. But there was another petite blond just to her left and he switched his scrutiny over, only to discount her as well a moment later. He was starting to get a headache from all this squinting, and it was official – as a place to meet someone Grand Central Station sucked. He frowned and shut his eyes for a moment, rubbing at the crease between them absently. Knowing his luck she had probably decided not to come, or some last minute crisis had demanded her attention. For a security consultant she certainly was away from home a lot, and often at very short notice. It was only extreme luck that had finally allowed both of them to be in the same city at the same time and that had required quite a lot of scheming on his part, including persuading General Hammond that it was of earth shattering importance that he attend the Society of American Archaeologists annual conference. But she had to do some pretty fancy manoeuvring on her part, although she hadn't been very clear to him about exactly what it was she was officially in the city to do.

To be honest it had become clear over the last few months that her schedule tended to be somewhat maniac. In fact her schedule reminded him, of well, his. Without the world in peril issues of course. But it had become apparent to him over the last six months of emails that carefully skated around her job issues that whatever she did it wasn't as danger free as she so flippantly asserted. However with the enigma that was Buffy Summers it was merely just one more mystery piled upon a mountain of them. Why did she stay up half the night as though sleep was something to be avoided? And why did she never mention her family or any friends?

It was as if she existed in a bubble that consisted of her and her job, to which she seemed totally devoted. It seemed somewhat – obsessive. His mouth quirked slightly at the irony of him considering someone else's devotion to their job obsessive. It was a bit like pot calling kettle black. He scanned the crowd again, searching for an elusive blond head and checked his watch absently. She was over 15 minutes late now, which didn't seem like the woman he had come to know over the last few months. She had obviously changed her mind for some reason. With a sigh of disappointment he stuck his hands in his pockets and turned away, trying to dispel the sudden wave of depression that stole over him.

Buffy eeled through the crowd, searching frantically for a tall tawny topped figure. Damn New York traffic. She should have known better than to suggest Grand Central Station for a rendezvous point but too many bad rom coms had meant that it had just slipped out before she had really thought about it. At least in future she wouldn't scoff in disbelief at all those Hollywood movies when the hero and heroine missed each other at railway station. She spun around desperately, trying to see one blond head among a crowd that suddenly seemed completely made up of blond men who were all taller than her. She just couldn't see! But then out of the corner of her peripheral vision she caught sight of a slim figure turning away, hands in pockets, head down as he slouched away into the crowd. But as she turned he disappeared, melting into the crowd and she let out a squeal of pure frustration as she bounced up on her toes, trying to see over the heads of the crowd. There must be someway she could check if it had been him!

Utilising her Slayer agility she bounced up onto the narrow ledge edging one of the stone pillars that lined the walls and held on precariously, ignoring the bemused looks shot her way as the New Yorkers briefly acknowledged the physical impossibility of a petite blond clinging to a wall like a spider and then dismissed it from their minds. Even as she scanned the crowd for Daniel a corner of Buffy's mouth twitched in amusement at the determined nonchalance of the crowd. New Yorkers. Almost as determined to ignore anything that didn't fit as the Sunnydale crowd used to be. It certainly made being a Slayer in this town easier to explain away.

There! A flash of vaguely familiar features just heading down the side of the concourse. With a burst of renewed energy she bounced off the pillar and catapulted into the crowd, elbows flying.

"Excuse me –coming through, clear the way."

She ignored the dirty looks cast her way as she forged her way through the crowd. After all, she had been waiting six months to meet this newest of her friends in person and a few dirty looks were not likely to stop her. Impervious!

Daniel was just turning out into the shopping mall when what seemed like a small whirlwind ploughed into back and grabbed at his sleeve, just as a breathless, slightly Californian accented voice gasped out his name.

"Daniel!"

He spun in place, turning so fast that he nearly lost his balance and had to grab at the steadying hand she offered, his frown transforming into a delighted smile as he recognised the green eyes staring anxiously up at him.

"Buffy?"

"Hi! I'm really sorry I'm late – the damn taxi got stuck in traffic, and then I couldn't see over the crowd, and I thought I'd missed you…."

She was aware that she was babbling but didn't seem able to stop; caught by the amusement in his eyes, which now he wasn't concussed were even bluer than she remembered. She paused to gasp in a breath and then stuttered to a halt as he put his hands on her shoulders and shook her gently.

"Buffy. Stop. It's okay. Honestly. I just thought that work had held you up, or something.

"Oh. Right. Uhmm."

She smiled up at him, feeling a little stupid, terribly aware of the pressure of his hands on her shoulders. He smiled down at her; aware that he was grinning like an idiot but unable to stop. She was here. Finally. Solid and living, full of bounce and energy. He found himself examining her face, trying to memorize every feature, the slim, strong oval of her face, the high, carved cheekbones, the soft rose lips, aware that he was probably causing the blush that was flagging up over the golden skin but unable to stop. He couldn't believe that she was really here.

He was staring at her, and she found a blush rising, heating her face until she wanted to duck to avoid his gaze. But she pushed away the impulse, biting her lip and torn between embarrassment and laughter at the frankly fascinated expression on his face. After a second laughter won out and she grinned up at him, the flash of white teeth momentarily breaking the trance he seemed to be in. He smiled back rather ruefully, glancing aside and away for a moment, breaking the tension.

"Sorry. It's just that I've been trying to convince my friends that you actually exist for quite a while now and so it's nice to actually have concrete proof for once."

He saw a flicker of something he couldn't quite decipher flash across her face and then she smiled again and stuck out a small hand for him to take.

"Buffy Summers. Please to meet you in person when you're un-concussed. Finally."

He returned her smile and shook her hand firmly, the pressure of her fingers sure and strong, likening the warmth of her touch against his skin just a little more than he thought he really should have.

"Daniel Jackson. Likewise."

For a moment they stood, shaking hands and grinning goofily at each other and then Buffy shook herself out of the trance she was threatening to fall into. He was just soo cute! But no – she didn't get to think like that anymore. Bad, bad Buffy. Daniel was just a friend. A cute, witty, funny, tall, oh – so gorgeous friend. But still – just a friend. And she had to learn to keep her mind out of the gutter.

Deliberately breaking eye contact and pulling her hand back she glanced around the crowded concourse before looking back at her companion.

"Hey – would you like to get a coffee or something? Or something to eat? I know you have to catch a flight but do you have time?" She kept her tone uber causal but inside a little voice was chanting 'say yes, say yes.

Daniel couldn't seem to stop the stupid grin that seemed to be permanently etched on his face. It had been years since he'd felt this illogically happy. She was just so - there. So alive, as though the air around her sparkled. And he found himself energised just by standing beside her, a feeling so foreign to him he couldn't even remember the last time he'd experienced it. So when she offered coffee he grasped at the opportunity with both hands.

"Well my flight isn't until tomorrow morning. If you've got time, I would love to get some coffee." Her smile this time was like a thousand watt bulb and he blinked, dazzled, and more than a little infatuated.

"Cool."

She bounced in place, trying not to let the feeling of totally unreasonable happiness overwhelm her.

"I know the perfect place."

She spun around and started to stalk off, stopping abruptly a second later as she realised he wasn't following.

"Coming?"

He was staring at her again and she felt that treacherous blush stealing up across her cheeks again. Then he shook himself and paced after her.

"Sorry. Woolgathering. Bad personal habit."

She glanced at him and raised an eyebrow as they started off through the crowd. There was definitely something a little Giles-like about him. But Giles before all the crap that had come between them, when he was still her friend and protector from all the non-slayer related crap that life tended to throw at her. Not like he was now – all Council and formal, the brittle framework between them all that was left of something that used to be warm and vital. But no – she wasn't going to be dwell on the negative parts of her life today. Today was a good day. Sneaking another glance at her companion she clarified the thought. Today was a very good day.

"Doesn't bother me. I tend to babble, so I can't criticise."

Recognising the comment as the reassurance it was meant to be, Daniel flashed her a grateful smile.

"So where are we going?"

She paced along beside him, dancing slightly in place, her grin mischievous.

"It's a surprise. Don't you like surprises?"

"That depends if they're nice surprises."

She pursued her lips mock-consideringly. "Well this one is. A nice surprise that is."

"Well then my lady. Lead on. I am entirely in your hands."

She paused, the tempo of her dancing steps slowing a little as she considered his remark, obviously a little taken aback at his rather grandiose declaration. Daniel mentally cringed as he tried to determine whether he had said the wrong thing. This meeting new people thing could be so hard sometimes! But then the dance came back into her step and she grinned back at him, eyes glimmering in amusement.

"In my hands hhm? Be careful. That can be a scary place to be."

He returned her smile, outwardly serene and inwardly trying not to fall too far, too fast. That way always hurt. But not since Sha're had he been so immediately attracted to someone. While their emailing exchange had left him with a hugely positive impression of her, in the flesh she was just so much more. In his mind he could feel Jack urging him to go for it, smirking an evil O'Neill grin at the same time. However outwardly he only smiled, managing at least for now to keep it light.

"Well then, I'll just have to trust that you'll keep me from getting hurt, won't I?"

She raised an ironic eyebrow at his reply, obviously amused.

"I suppose you will. But don't worry about it. I've had lots of practice."

And leaving him pondering over her cryptic reply, she led him off into the crowd.


	7. Chapter 6

Huge shout out and thanks to everyone who took the time to review the last chapter, cheers guys!

**Chapter 6**

It was dark by the time they piled out of the restaurant, the door closing on the carousal of girlish shrieks and a badly squawked version of happy birthday, the background noise of New York on a Friday somehow seeming peaceful in comparison. Daniel shook his head, trying to clear his ears of the echoes, laughing.

"God –I had forgotten just how loud teenage girls can be!"

Buffy matched his smile, her eyes sparkling.

"I haven't. But I should have warned you. Serendipity is a pretty popular place to go for post prom and birthday parties. Sorry."

"It's fine. It was…fun. And the food was pretty good too."

In fact it had been more than fun. Surrounded by the noise and bustle of one of New York's more unusual restaurants, having to raise his voice to make himself heard across the table, Daniel had felt something rise that he had thought he had lost in too many years of stress and grind, buried in the sands with his past. Pure life, flowing through his veins, exhilaration for something other than a new artefact or a new people, an appreciation of humanity just as they were, in all their noisy, laughing discord. And the focus of this newly discovered appreciation had sat and laughed with him when the shrieks of teenage abandon reached dolphin pitch and made them both wince, before they were reduced to shooting shy smiles at each other as though they were still teenagers themselves.

"So do you spend a lot of time with teenagers?"

Buffy shrugged, a slightly rueful expression on her face.

"It's part of my job. And I have a younger sister, although she's not a teenager any more, thank god."

He caught the echo of genuine thankfulness in her voice and smiled in commiseration.

"That bad?"

"You have no idea."

There was a definite air of finality in her voice and Daniel took the hint, moving away from the subject as they started to walk up the street, ambling aimlessly. He cast a glance at her, seeing the slight firmness of her lips and the jut of her chin that he had already, in the space of a few hours acquaintance, worked out meant a sensitive subject was too close to being breached. Sometimes it helped to be an expert in body language.

"A female friend of mine has a teenage daughter. Cassie. But she's pretty level headed and apart from her it's an age group that I don't really have much to do with."

Buffy looked amused.

"Count yourself lucky. I'm just glad I survived my teens."

Daniel cast a quizzical look in her direction. There was an underlying grimness in her flippant statement that rang alarm bells with him. Admittedly his teenage years hadn't exactly been great, but there was something in her voice that spoke of pain endured and concealed, far beyond what was normal for average teenage angst. But before he could think of how to broach the subject, she continued on, her tone deliberately light and bantering.

"So this female friend – just exactly how good a friend is she?"

Caught off guard by the sudden change of subject he could only gawp at her for a second before attempting to rally.

"Janet? I've known her for years." Catching the mischievous twinkle in her eyes he shook his head in denial. "We're not close in that way. She's seen far too much of me on a purely medical level to be interested in anything else."

"She's a doctor?"

"Yeah. In fact she was the doctor you called when I was concussed."

He caught the light of recognition in her eyes and raised a rueful eyebrow at her as she chuckled.

"Oh yeah, I remember her. She was tough. And really not very happy with you at all. I also got the impression from her attitude that it wasn't the first time she'd had to treat you for concussion."

He shrugged in faint embarrassment. "I do have a tendency to be a bit accident prone. You should have heard what Jack had to say about it." He winced at the memory. Not pretty.

"Who's Jack? I don't think you mentioned him before."

Whether it was as a result of the wine they had consumed with dinner or her company, he was so relaxed that it slipped out before he knew it.

"Jack's my best friend. But he's also my commanding officer, so it can be a little awkward."

He had already ambled on about six feet before he realised that she wasn't walking with him but had stopped dead on the sidewalk, warmth and animation draining out of her face to be replaced with a cool mask of suspicion. He wandered back to her, puzzled as to what could have prompted such a change.

"Buffy – are you alright?"

She regarded him silently for a minute before speaking. "Commanding officer, Daniel? You didn't tell me you worked for the military."

Oh shit. Jack was going to kill him. He had never been any good at cover stories, but this was bad even for him. But first he had fix this. She obviously wasn't too keen on the military, which was a little strange for a security consultant, but puzzling out that particular mystery could wait.

"I told you I was an archaeologist and an linguist."

She inclined her head in agreement. "But not that you worked for the military. And what's an archaeologist doing working for the army anyway?"

"It's not the army, it's the air force." Again the words were out of his mouth before he could pull them back and he cringed mentally at how Jack was going to slaughter him if he found out. It was also clear from his companion's closed off expression that a mere admission of branch wasn't going to cut it. He took a deep breath, carefully constructing a fabric that held as much truth as possible while not getting himself even further into the mire.

"I do some freelance consulting for the air force, mostly in regard to linguistics. Even the US air force needs someone who can translate sometimes."

He was watching her closely and he saw the imperceptible relaxation in her shoulders as she took in his carefully worded explanation.

"I see. Translating and things?"

He nodded slowly, watching her expression for a reaction. "Basically. I can't really talk about it. It's all a bit sensitive."

She was still watching him carefully, trying to fit this new unexpected and unwelcome facet of him into the picture she had so tentatively build up over the last six months.

"You mean classified."

His expression didn't change. Instead he met her eyes calmly, neither confirming nor denying her suspicions and she suddenly knew that she was being a little ridiculous. He didn't really owe her any explanation and she knew that if it had been her being questioned in such an aggressive way by such a recent acquaintance she wouldn't have been half so patient. He wasn't the Initiative and she had to stop reacting as though every person with connections to the military was going to drag her right back there. This was Daniel. Just Daniel. Not Riley, or Walsh, or any of that fucked up crew. It was gone. They were past. She had to let go.

He caught the moment when she relaxed, breaking eye contact with him, looking aside and away, a flush of embarrassment staining golden skin and he moved forward, reaching to tip her chin so she was gently forced to make eye contact with him again. She took a deep breath, and smiled a little wanly at him.

"I'm sorry. I know I sort of over reacted. I just have a bit of bad history with the military and I wasn't expecting you to have a connection with them. I mean, you never said."

He shrugged, accepting her apology without any sign of irritation.

"It's okay. I used to be very anti military too. But a lot of my best friends now are in the services and I've learned to see things a little differently. " He smiled down at her still slightly clouded expression. "And I didn't mention it before, because it's something I'm not really meant to mention at all. In fact Jack's going to kill me if he finds out I mentioned it this much."

A faint frown creased her forehead. "Will you get in trouble? Will you be okay?"

He hastened to reassure her. "No, no, it's okay. Don't worry. He'll just scream at me for a few minutes and then let it go. It's fine. I just probably shouldn't talk about it any more, just to be safe. I know it can seem a little ridiculous to other people, but in my job there are some things that I do that I'm really just not meant to talk to anyone outside about. I'm sure with your security consultations you have to deal with similar situations."

He was still touching her face, holding her gaze and he was aware of a myriad number of emotions moving behind her eyes, things that couldn't quite put a name to. But whatever he had said it seemed to strike a chord with her and she nodded in acknowledgment, the pressure on his fingers causing him to remove them, not without a certain wistful reluctance.

"I can get that. "

She was still regarding him with those unfathomable eyes and he shifted, slightly uncomfortable with the scrutiny and then regarded her quizzically as she stuck out a hand.

"A bargain. I'll not ask about your job and you won't ask about mine. I think we've both got secrets to protect."

He hesitated a moment and then nodded, reaching out to shake her hand and seal the agreement. Her hand was warm and strong in his and he firmly put aside the twinge of curiosity that her mention of secrets had ignited. She would tell him eventually, or not and until then he would have to live with it. He wasn't Jack, to bulldoze his way through a person's privacy.

There was a moment's awkward silence and then Buffy shifted, aware of her hand still wrapped in his. "So, what times your flight tomorrow?"

"Nine. So I suppose I'd better get back to the hotel at some point."

Her smile was starting to come back, sparkling in her eyes and quirking at the corners of her mouth.

"So I suppose I can't persuade to come out for a night of hard house clubbing?"

The laugh spilled out before he could stop it, startling them both.

"Not this time. But maybe next?"

She caught the underlying question in his voice and dimpled up at him, trying not to flush at his very obvious appreciation.

"I'd like that. Next time then." Catching his suddenly widened smile she tried in vain to hide the blush that was now spreading like crimson across her cheeks. Still a bit embarrassed she started padding up the street again, pausing after a few steps when the tug on her hand told her that he hadn't moved. Looking back over her shoulder she found him staring after her with an expression that made her blush even more. She gave his hand a little tug.

"Are you coming?"

He shook himself like a dog and then moved to walk beside her, the two of them threading through the slowly diminishing crowds, content to enjoy the city and the warmth of the summer night. And if it was made so much more special by the company, well, neither was going to say anything that might disturb the fragile accord they had created. Or that might draw the other's attention to the fact that all the way back to his hotel their hands had quietly remained entwined, a small point of contact that bridged a gap created by two very separate lives.


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Just like to say thanks to Exiled-Away, Philomena, TallieCat, Luckyshamrock, Goldenrat, Damia, Kastia, Kanikan, and nycscribe46 for giving such positive and upbeat reviews. Thanks guys! As a reward two chapters at once!

She was running. Some small part of her knew she was dreaming but the rest of her was there. Running. Feet hitting the ground, arms pumping in counterpoint to the straining beating of her heart and the gasping sound of her breath. On either side above and behind she could feel the presence of others, other slayers, ordinary humans, animals, even vampires. She didn't know where they were running to or what from. All she knew was that they had to keep on running. Keep on running or it would be the end of everything. Then with a wrenching suddenness she was pulled abruptly upwards, suspended above everything like a marionette, helpless to act, watching with horrified inevitability as the thing she had been running from, the gaping, grey nothingness overwhelmed them all and rolled on, unimpeded. It left nothing in its wake. Nothing at all. No bones, no corpses, just dull, sterile earth, without even a blade of grass. And somehow she knew that this land would never bear fruit again. That whatever had happened had sucked the very ability to bear or sustain life from the earth, leaving behind this barren and grey wasteland.

Her vantage point changed again, pulling her further out, until she was suspended high over the planet, forced to watch as the greyness speedily overwhelmed the lush blue and green orb, the palette of luminous colours fading to undifferentiated grey and brown. She knew she was screaming, shouting, pleading, every muscle and sinew screaming an incoherent no, but she couldn't hear herself. All she could hear was the death shout of the planet itself, billions of voices raised in a cry of abandonment and despair, echoing and reverberating through her head so she could only clasp her hands over her ears and scream even louder for it to just stop. But it went on, and on, and she was bombarded by images as those she was tied to were pulled under one by one. Xander trying to gain his girls a second more of life by throwing himself In front of them as the greyness sucked them under, the terror and frustration on the baby slayers faces as they faced this enemy that they even they could not fight and vanished, lives flickering out like moths in a flame. Willow and Kennedy, the red haired witch's eyes as black as ebony as they fought together with spells and blows, overwhelmed within minutes by the sheer enormity of the task, swallowed by the grey, hands clasped to the end. Dawn, Andrew, even Giles taken in seconds, their faces matching masks of despair and terror, lives snuffed out while the grey rolled on regardless. And all this time she was forced to watch, suspended above the maelstrom as everything and everyone she knew and loved died horribly, bit by bit. And all the time she could hear them screaming.

After an interminable period it ceased as there was nothing left to consume but Buffy still hung above the now empty planet, sobbing and retching.

For an endless moment she hung there, alone in the dark and then she became conscious of a soft blue light at her shoulder. Twisting in the vacuum that was space she turned to see that the light emanated from a softly glowing figure that was standing watching the dead Earth with an expression of infinite compassion. A figure that she recognised.

"Tara…"

The being that used to be Tara McClay turned and smiled at her gently.

"Hello, Buffy. It's good to see you again."

The blond Slayer wiped angrily at her eyes with a hand and took a few deep breaths, trying to still the torrent of emotion that was still pouring through her system.

"It's good to see you too. But I could have wished it was in better circumstances."

She gestured angrily to the devastation below. "Was this really necessary? Couldn't they have just send Whistler again?"

The other woman smiled briefly. "Well, considering that last time he appeared you threatened him and then proceeded to basically ignore him…" she shrugged. "The Powers thought that someone a bit more familiar and less…" she hesitated, and Buffy watching let bare the slightest hint of a smile.

"Cryptic?"

At Tara's nod she smiled wryly. "At least they're learning. Took them a while though."

She turned back to the devastated planet below and her face hardened. "But I can't say I approve of the floor show. This was cruel." She regarded the other ex-Scooby with narrowed eyes. "And unnecessary. A message would have been sufficient."

Tara shook her head gently and gestured to the devastated Earth. "Buffy this _was_ the message. I'm just the messenger. The Powers needed you to see exactly what will happen if you don't take heed."

Buffy scowled at her. "So –another apocalypse? What's new with that? Every potential apocalypse could lead to the end of the world and the Powers don't sent me nightmares for each one of them."

Tara regarded the grey below her with infinite sorrow for a moment before looking back at her old friend.

"This one is different."

Buffy raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Different how? Pretty much all the apocalypses I've been involved in have some form of world ending as the ultimate goal."

"Technically that's not quite true." Ignoring the blonde's look of disbelief Tara continued on. "The ultimate aim of most of the apocalypses you and your predecessors have stopped has been the end of the world for humans. That is the aim of the overthrow of the human race by something else. Either by vampires or cults or other organisations. But none of them involved the absolute ending of the world."

Buffy frowned. She didn't quite get the distinction. Seeing her confusion Tara gestured down at the planet. "The end of the Earth itself. Gaia. The mother goddess."

"You mean the planet? You mean this is a literal floorshow?" She gazed down at the greyness, even more horrified than before. "I thought the Powers were being…." she gestured abstractly, "metaphorical or something."

Tara shook her head and looked at her intently. "Something big is coming Buffy. Something that is not of this earth, not of our dimensional plain. And if it gets it's chance it will drain this entire planet of every scrap of life it has."

Buffy shook her head in furious denial and gestured at the ruin below. "How can I fight something like that? How can you tell this is coming if I'm only going to fail?"

Tara came closer and reached up to take her friend's face in softly glowing hands, staring into her eyes intently. "You can fight this, Buffy. You can. And you can win. You're our Champion. Earth's Champion."

Buffy closed her eyes against the softly glowing face of her friend for a minute. She was so tired of fighting all the time. She knew she was the Champion and it wasn't as if she had any choice. But she was so tired. Two small tears of exhaustion leaked from under her eyelids and she felt the gentle warmth as Tara wiped them away, and for a second allowed herself to lean against a strength other than her own. But then she sighed in mingled resignation and acceptance, feeling the familiar weight of the burden settle on her shoulders and opened her eyes to meet Tara's sympathetic face. She smiled ruefully.

"I guess there isn't anyone else?"

At Tara's sympathetic head shake she signed again. "Well I guess those are the breaks. What do I have to do?"

Tara's smile was radiant and she reached up and placed a glowing kiss on her friend's forehead, leaving it tingling, like a benediction.

"Just remember, you are Earth's Champion. Gaia's chosen. And that in all of Slayer history there has never been a record of a Slayer been made into a vampire. Slayers can't be possessed." She caught Buffy's look of confused scepticism and smiled even wider, gently shoving her away. "Ask Giles if you don't believe me."

The gap between them was widening now and Buffy felt herself being pulled inexorably away. Straining, she reached out to Tara, but the gap was too big. The other girl just stood and smiled at her, a hint of mischief in her eyes. "Tara, wait! I don't know what to do!"

The other girl was only a tiny speck in the distance now, but Buffy could still hear her voice as though she was next to her.

"You'll know. Just remember this place." Suddenly an image slipped into her mind, a road leading to what looked like an armed bunker, surrounded by barbed wire and patrolled by guards. She frowned as she desperately tried to commit the image to memory. She could feel it slipping as she was pulled back to her body, but before she was pulled into unconsciousness again, she heard a quiet laugh from her old friend and what felt like a whisper in her ear.

"And Buffy? Trust in love." And with that last whispered aside she was gone. Buffy frowned even as she fell back into slumber. Cryptic much? Tara had rather obviously been taking lessons from her bosses.


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

**Spoiler!**

Author's note: I have included in this story some of the background that is added to canon by Nancy Holders Buffy novel "Queen of the Slayers." It covers the time during which Buffy and co were staying in Italy with the immortal, after the fall of Sunnydale. Basically, while not wanting to issue spoilers I have to mention for clarities sake that Buffy "dies" again at the end of the novel and comes back. So she has now died three times. Also Oz appears again from a monastery where he and other werewolves have been guarding a guru of the light. The guru is killed as are many of Oz's packmates but some (and Oz) survive. Sorry about the spoilers guys, but I would still say read the book, it's pretty good. And a very logical next step for Buffy after Chosen.

And now on with the story!

**Chapter 8**

For Rupert Giles it had already been a rather long day and it wasn't getting any shorter. Pulling off his glasses he cleaned them absently with his ever-present handkerchief, taking a moment to rub at the crease between his eyes where he could feel the beginnings of a skull splitting headache starting. He had a budget meeting in 10 minutes and after that a sub committee meeting with each of the major regional watcher heads. Thank god Willow had managed to set up that astral projection spell last time she had been back. It did make speaking to everyone a lot easier than that damned conference call contraption. At least this way they could see each other's faces when they spoke. And there was no time delay. Practical magic of which Giles thoroughly approved. Than he had to go and check up on the arrangements for the next rotational shift of the more nomadic slayer/watcher pairs around their territories while still of course keeping up to take on the constant flood of supernatural intelligence from around the globe. He sighed heavily and tried not to give in to the urge to take a pre-emptive pain killer.

Admittedly the new Watcher's Council was an infinitely more effective organisation than the old one had been, up to date and on the ball. But it had to be admitted that staying in control, of both it and the information it collected was often a job for ten men, not just one. And even with his focused and dedicated staff the buck too often stopped with him in his position as Head of the Watchers. Which was often rather stressful. Not to mention the amount of work an averted apocalypse generated. Sometimes he looked back on his times in Sunnydale with an almost nostalgic feel for the sheer lack of paperwork he used to have to deal with. He sighed again. Still. Mustn't grumble. At least this way he wasn't fighting for his life everyday on the front lines. He was getting too old to do that and have any chance of survival.

Even hours of paperwork and frequent headaches were a small price to pay for the knowledge that, baring accidents and acts of an otherwise benevolent deity, one would wake up tomorrow and possibly even the next day. It made a change from living on a hellmouth where the chances of waking up the next day were always a matter of percentages, rather than absolutes.

A tentative knock on the doorway pulled him abruptly out of his musings and he looked up, startled, to find his assistant Fiona curling half her body around the door frame in that particularly disturbingly flexible way that she had.

"Mr Giles? Do you have a second?"

He waved vaguely at the paperwork strewn across the desk. "I'm just about to head into the budget meeting. Can it wait?"

Fiona hesitated, an uncharacteristic tendency in one who was normally so forthright.  
"Well, it's just that, sir, Buffy's here."

Giles straightened in shock. Buffy? Here? Without being asked? It had been months since she had last slipped through the doors of Watcher Headquarters and even longer since she had come in without her presence being requested. As a matter of form she did all of her business with the London branch of the Council either off campus, or by phone or email. In fact the senior slayer was so notoriously elusive that some of the non slayer staff had jokingly begun to assert that she didn't exist, that she was only a myth conjured up by the scoobies to spur the other slayers to greater heights. Although admittedly they didn't say that in front of any of the scoobies, not wanted to be eviscerated, verbally or otherwise for the sake of gossip. Which is why his normally levelheaded assistant was acting as wide eyed as a five year old, as though a phoenix had suddenly appeared in her office.

"Well then, show her in." When she didn't move immediately his voice sharpened a little. "Quickly, please, Fiona. And can you call around to reschedule the budget meeting. Tell them I have been unexpectedly delayed." As the sharpness in his voice registered she straightened up and slipped around the doorway, still looking a little wild eyed. But as Giles reflected ruefully, Buffy often had that effect on people.

She returned a few seconds later, the object of his musings following behind her like a lithe blond shadow, padding so silently into the room that if he wasn't looking straight at her he would have doubted the evidence of his senses. Even Faith, with her street smarts and attitude had never quite gained Buffy's ability to blend in, to disappear unless she wanted to be found. It was one of the reasons he had found it so hard to find her the summer she had run away. For if she was concentrating on being invisible Buffy was surprisingly hard to see and almost to impossible to hear. But as she padded across the carpet towards him it was obvious that something had happened to make her discard her customary elusiveness, at least for the moment.

He moved out from behind his desk and gestured for Fiona to leave. She did, closing the door behind her, still google eyed at catching a glimpse of the closest thing WCI had to a living legend. The focus of her regard waited until the door swung shut with an amused lift of the eyebrow, habituated at least in part to being stared at by those who were privileged to be in the know. It didn't make it any easier but she had learned to put up with it.

As soon as the door was shut Giles slipped out from behind his desk and came to greet her, a smile of hesitant pleasure hovering around his lips as drank in the all too rare site of his oldest and most experienced slayer. She returned his gaze, the slightest ghost of a smile hovering around her lips, no doubt cataloguing the small changes in his appearance just as he was doing with her. She looked….well, Giles decided. Physically she looked splendid, the taut muscles sleekly visible under golden skin, her blonde hair pulled casually back in a pony tail, face bare of any make up bar maybe a slick of lip gloss. But it was the other small changes he was more encouraged by. Her eyes, which the last time he had seen her had been so dead and dull held a faint flicker of renewed life, a slightest tell of a tentative sparkle, which heartened him immensely. Anything was better than the robotic indifference he had noted there the last time they had met just before he had sent her to pick up the Ring of Tahnmonet some six months ago.

"Buffy." He dug his hands into his pockets reflexively, wanting to reach out and hug her but prevented for doing so by a combination of his innate old school reserve and the almost visible aura of detachment that she wore like a cloak.

"Giles."

She smiled up at him but he could tell that she was deeply uncomfortable and would rather be anywhere else but here in his office. No doubt it and him held too many memories, most more unpleasant than not. He could even put a finger on the exact moment when the balance between the good and bad memories had finally tipped for her, that moment when she had woken up from her third "death" at the end of that fiasco with the Immortal in Rome when the other slayers had crowned her Queen of the Slayers. She had blundered and stumbled through an accounting of witnessing the final fight of Angel and Spike and their friends in Los Angeles, still disorientated and weakened from her own experience. Her voice shaking she had confessed to him how she'd seen Spike die, again, when she hadn't even known that for all these months he'd been alive. All that time she'd been mourning him unnecessarily, an irony which was only making itself apparent with his so recent true death. But it was when she had reached up to grasp his hand and asked if he'd known that Spike was still alive that he was unable to meet her eyes. He remembered how her eyes had slowly filled with tears as the extent of this further betrayal damaged the remnants of her trust in him, ripping holes in a fabric that had been almost beyond repair already.

Things between them had never been quite the same since. Which is why he hadn't protested like the others when she had left to seek out Oz and the rest of his decimated pack in the new monastery they had retired to, realising that more than anything else she needed time away. Away from other slayers, away even from the scoobies, and especially, time away from him. He'd hoped that time away might allow her to gain perspective and heal a little. But as became more and more apparent it had only allowed her to fully embrace what used to be the slayers mantra. That a slayer was always really alone. And no slayer was ever more alone, by choice or design, than Buffy.

It was her choice and despite various well-meaning attempts none had so far managed to pierce the adamantine barrier she had woven around herself over the last few years. The fact that she had come into speak to him was the first small but positive sign he'd seen from her in a very long time. Consequently he was anxious to make her feel as comfortable as possible.

"Would you like a seat? Tea, coffee…hot chocolate?"

Her slight smile grew a little wider and a touch more warm, but she declined his offer of refreshment with a slight shake of her head.  
"Thanks, but I haven't got time. I've got a 8pm flight out of Heathrow to catch."

He was slightly taken aback; as he had thought that her schedule had her in London for the next two weeks.  
"Anything I should know?"

She shrugged bonelessly, a small frown of frustration etched between her brows. "I'm going back to the States. There's something…" her voice trailed off as she padded blindly across the room, pivoting gracefully as she reached the far wall. He watched her quietly, attuned enough to her moods to realise that there was something further she needed to tell him. She paced for a few more minutes and then stopped dead in front of him.

"I had a visit."

"A visit?"

She shrugged again.  
"Yup. A full on in-dreams-intervention, kind of visit."

"Oh." He reached up and took off his glasses, cleaning them as he concentrated even harder on what she was saying. Of all of his slayers Buffy was still by far the most reliable for prophecies, dreams and other contact from the Powers. He assumed it went part and parcel with being the original slayer, and if Buffy herself knew any differently she wasn't saying. So he listened intently as she described her dream visitation from Tara, complete with dire warnings and visuals. By the look of Buffy's face it had obviously not been a particularly pleasant experience. By the time she had finished her face was creased by an even deeper frown and his headache had come back full force.

Buffy finished with the last part of Tara's cryptic warnings. She had left out the bit about her being the Champion and her dead friends passing remark about trusting in love, considering it none of any one else's business, but the rest she had recounted in faithful detail. But from the look on Giles' face he was as clueless as she was. She held in a sigh. She'd had so hoped he might have an idea where she could go next, hoped hard enough that she had even forced herself into the orbit of the one building she hated most in all the world, the headquarters of the Watcher's Council. Next to her old high school in Sunnydale it was pretty much up there on her loath-a-metre.

But no such luck. She was on her own, as always. But hopefully her old watcher could at least clarify one of her burning questions. She glanced up at Giles. He was still pondering what she had told him with an expression of deep concentration on his face. Knowing him he would mull over it for days to come and harness the brains of many others to attack the issue as well. But that was his job, not hers. She was research girl only until she had enough information to become action girl. And if he had no information for her she might as well get moving on the job herself. She usually did work better alone anyway.

Out of politeness she waited until he had finished his initial ruminations, shifting impatiently from foot to foot, the plush carpet giving under her weight. Finally he looked up.

"Well, I must admit I've never heard of anything like what you have described. But of course I'll get our best researchers on it as soon as possible." He quickly caught on to the impatience screaming out from her body language and straightened up.

"Now I know you have a plane to catch. Is there anything else I can help you with?"  
She regarded him cautiously, head tilted at an angle, as if unsure whether to ask. But her curiosity obviously won over her caution as she strightened up to ask him. Whatever it was was obviously something that was of importance to her.

"Yes. I was wondering, that thing that Tara said, that slayers can never be possessed. Is that true?"

He smiled at her in relief, glad to be able to answer at least one of her questions.  
"Within reason it is. While slayers have been temporarily possessed by ghosts, and even once in Spain in 1769 by a demon, it does seem that a slayer cannot be possessed on a permanent basis by any other creature, whether it is a physical or a psychological possession."

She frowned at him again.  
"Does that mean that for instance a slayer can never become a vampire?"

Giles polished his glasses still further. He should have told her this months earlier, but the final piece of scientific explanation had only been pieced together recently and it had slipped his mind. He remembered how scared she had been of becoming a vampire when she had been younger. No doubt she had been officially told in one of the email memos that she never read, (Buffy's distaste for paperwork was legendary) but still… He should have told her personally.

"Yes. It just became definite in the last six months, when Ailysa, remember her?"  
At Buffy's silent nod of recognition he went on. "Yes. Ailysa was ambushed by a master vampire and some twenty minions. Unusually he attempted to turn her, but it didn't take. He drained her and then forced his blood onto her but it seems that the attempt by the demon to take over her actually reactived her slayer side which then went into overdrive, so to speak. Emily her Watcher said she had never seen any thing like it. It was as if Ailysa just exploded. One minute she was almost dead and the next she had killed the Master and decimated his crew. The rest of his kiss are we believe, still running."

"And she's okay?"

"Yes, she's absolutely fine. Nothing more than a little residual blood loss, and a few bruises which of course healed up as always. Absolutely no sign of any vampirism at all."

Buffy seemed to be musing on this new information. "I wonder if that's why the first Master, back in Sunnydale didn't try to turn me once he'd drained me. I remember when I woke up that first time, I felt invigorated. Really alive and so powerful. I put it down to almost dying, but maybe it was something else."

"Maybe. He was an extremely experienced demon. Perhaps he had tried to turn a slayer before and had realised that it didn't work."

"Do we know why slayers can't be taken over?"

Giles polished his glasses almost absently, before putting them back on.  
"Well one of our researchers has a theory." He ignored Buffy's snort and continued on. "She thinks that because the shadow men made Senaya the first slayer from a demon, that the part of a slayer that is demon based rejects any attempt by any other demon to take possession in a host body. Thrusts it out, so to speak. No room at the inn."

"Sort of like two magnets getting too close together?"

He was impressed by her insight and it showed in his pleased tone of voice. "Yes, exactly. Like the opposite of attraction. Repulsion. That's a very good analogy if I may say so Buffy. I'll have to use that one."

She favoured with another ghost of a smile. "Be my guest." She turned to the door, strangely comforted by the knowledge that at least one of her adolescent nightmares could be put to rest.

"I've got to go now Giles, otherwise I'll miss the plane. But I'll keep you posted. Especially if I see anywhere that looks like that place from the dream. And if you could get your people working on it?"

"Of course. I'll assign some people to it today. Hopefully between our combined resources we should at least be able to narrow it down."

"Good. That would be great." She was almost at the door when he called out to her and she turned, taking him in, the solid presence, the now graying brown hair, and the creases that time and worry had riven into his face. It was with a strange pang that she realised Giles was starting to get old. She'd never thought she would live to see a time when Giles started to get old. It gave her a bittersweet feeling in her gut.

"Yes, Giles?"

"Buffy, I know I say this too often, but please be careful."  
In reply she smiled at him for a moment, a real smile, like the ones she used to give him years ago, eyes wry and laughing.

"Don't worry, G-man. I'm careful enough for two slayers. Dying three times is enough for anyone."

And with a last glimpse of a smile and the bob of a blond ponytail she was gone, leaving an emotionally torn watcher behind her, pulled between the twinge she had given his heart at her old teasing use of Xander's nickname and the cold necessities of his position. All he wanted to do was to go to her and help her fight whatever it was that was coming for her like they used to. But the cold hard realities of the situation were that he was of more use to her and to all of them here in his office, co-coordinating the research and the response than out in the field where his increasing age made him a liability, not an asset.

With a sigh he sat down again behind his desk and leaned heavily on the intercom.  
"Fiona?"

"Yes sir?"

"Please tell the rest of the budget committee that we'll have to reschedule for another day. And get Pierson, Scott and McCloud up here as soon as possible."

"Of course sir." There was a moment's silence on the other end of the intercom as she took in the implications of the head of the council asking for the council's three top apocalypse researchers.

"Is it another one, sir?"

"It looks like it. But keep that to yourself. Make up a file though. Call this one Ap214 – subtitle "Tara."

"Yes sir."

And with that Rupert Giles attempted to put out of mind for now the possibility of yet another impending apocalypse and instead focused on the more currently pressing issue of territory slayer/watcher territory rotation and budget allocation. For while ravening hell gods might try to take over the world tomorrow, today he had to deal with a far more frightening body. Auditors. And even slayers trembled at those.


	10. Chapter 9

Sorry guys – all I can say is that real life sucks. Here you go – if any one's still interested!

Sigma.

Chapter 9 

Daniel hated funerals. He'd been to too many, seen too many people he loved put in the ground or sent into the fire. You would have thought that familiarity would have made the process easier, or at the very least allowed him to get through each one without the searing headache that suppressed emotions left and the tight hot aching behind his eyes. But instead it seemed to get harder each time rather than easier. The memorial service had been bad enough, standing there, swallowing angrily past the lump in his throat, eyes burning with unshed tears as the endless litany of those Janet had saved went on and on. On and on. Into a future that his friend had been robbed of. But this, this was killing him.

They had laid on the whole nine yards, the measured ceremony of honour for the fallen, with gun salutes and a folded flag given by a solemn faced General Hammond to a too still Cassie who sat in a crumpled heap on a chair by the graveside, as if only the handclasps of Jack and Sam stopping her from falling forward with the coffin into the open grave. Some part of Daniel felt an almost abstracted pain for her, poor kid, to see two mothers die in such a short lifetime, but the rest of him was still caught in the endless flashback of watching Janet die, over and over again, the whine of the staff weapon, the sudden shocking smell of burning flesh in his nostrils and the horrible beauty of her blood, so bright blossoming against the ground as he fought desperately to save her. She had looked up at him as he caught her, as she fell back against the ground, hazel eyes meeting his with a flash of that old amusement, as if she had scored this one up as a small victory in their eternal battle of wits and wills. Even as he had struggled to save her, frantically trying to staunch the bleeding her eyes had followed him, quiet, almost accepting as if the whole wretched experience was only a masque, a scene in a play at which she was a spectator. The look in her eyes had been so heart wrenchingly like how he had felt the first time he had ascended that for hours after she finally closed her eyes he had hovered beside her, refusing to let go of the hand that had rapidly cooled in his grasp, irrationally convinced that any minute now she would blossom into that other plane, rise up and change, leaving nothing earthly behind. It had taken both O'Neill and Carter to pull him away from her body, the older mans eyes red rimmed and his voiced gravel edged and raw. Carter had been even worse off, voice hoarse and rasping from crying, eyes swollen and narrowed. It had only been when he refused to let go of Janet's hand that he had realised how close she was to losing it. Even so the shock of the slap took him by surprise. He stumbled back, hand instinctively reaching up to touch his cheek where the skin was reddening, staring at her in open mouthed shock. In all their years together Sam had never once hit him. Never. She faced him, a blonde valkyrie and he really looked at her for the first time since Janet had been shot that endless morning before. She looked so torn, so betrayed, that he felt a sudden stab of totally irrational guilt as he reached out a tentative hand and she burrowed into him like he was a lifeline. Her body was rigid in his arms and he gently rubbed a hand up and down her back as she breathed in the warmth of him, reassuring herself that this one of all her friends was still here. Eventually she pushed back and locked eyes with him, hands fisted in his lapels, giving him a little shake with each word, as though her sentences needed punctuation.

"Dammit Daniel! You'll not do this to me. I need you to stay with us. For me. For us. I can't lose you too. Not again."

He had nodded in capitulation, shifting his gaze to that of the thin-lipped Colonel who had stood immobile near the door while his 2IC bashed some sense into their errant archaeologist.

"Do you promise?"

Sam's voice had been clogged with tears, more had spilled down the sharp edges of her cheekbones and he had lifted a gentle hand to brush them away, meeting the demand in her gaze with as much reassurance as he had to give.

"I promise." And in that moment he had met Jack's gaze, and had silently promised them both, to always try to come back and never to do anything that would cause Sam to look at anyone else with the broken look she was giving him right now.

Which is why he could make himself stand this, the guns and the flag and the broken slump of Cassie's shoulders under a mourning grey sky. Even though a huge part of him just wanted to turn and walk away, to forget about the Gou'ld, interstellar warfare and the fate of the planet and 8 years of funerals and all the parade of the honoured dead that were still dead, no matter how honoured. For Sam and Jack, Teal'c and Cassie, even Siler and David he would stay. And because he always tried to keep his promises.

"_Whose woods these are I think I know._

_His house is in the village though;_

_He will not see me stopping here_

_To watch his woods fill up with snow._

_My little horse must think it queer_

_To stop without a farmhouse near_

_Between the woods and frozen lake_

_The darkest evening of the year._

_He gives his harness bells a shake_

_To ask if there is some mistake._

_The only other sound's the sweep_

_Of easy wind and downy flake._

_The woods are lovely, dark and deep._

_But I have promises to keep, _

_And miles to go before I sleep,_

_And miles to go before I sleep."_

_Robert Frost._


	11. Chapter 10

See – two chapters at once! I know they are always a bit small, but I'm trying! All reviews greatly appreciated.

Chapter 10

"Buff. Hey. Buffster. BUFFY!"

Someone was shaking her.

"Wha…whatsup…eeuhh. Xander? What are you doing?"

Her shaggy haired friend looked relieved and quickly removed his hands from her shoulders at her bewildered look, backing up a bit and giving her the space and time to fully wake up. Confused, she quickly scanned her surroundings.

She was in the main living room of the Cleveland building and the light that was starting to seep through the windows was that early dawn half light that she hardly ever saw, due to her habit of late nights and equally late mornings. And it was cold. Pulling her arms in she tucked her hands under her armpits and frowned as she encountered bare skin. No wonder she was cold! For some reason she was wandering around outside her bedroom and her mini Cleveland apartment in just her pyjamas. And not her cute flannelette ones with the little vampire bats on them either (willow had bought her them for a birthday, a few years ago) but the little cotton summer set with the spaghetti strap top and the short shorts. Which unfortunately didn't exactly provide much warmth. She glanced up at Xander and saw that he had determinedly fixed his gaze on a point just beyond her shoulder and that his cheeks were a definite shade of pink. For a moment the corners of her mouth twitched and she was tempted to tease him a little. After all living with sixteen hormonally challenged teenage girls had built up his blush reflex quite a bit higher than most normal 20 something males but sometimes just the littlest comment or a glimpse of skin from her or Faith still had the power to reduce him to the 15 year he had been when they had first met.

But it was too early, and too cold to play. And Xander was still too good a friend, despite everything, to tease. Grabbing the throw from the couch she wrapped it around her like a cocoon, burying into the warmth and looking up to meet her friend's relieved stare.

"Xander – what just happened?" She cocked his head as he reached up to brush the hair back from his eye, rubbing his forehead in the way he only did when he was worried or concerned. Usually about her it had to be admitted.

"I don't know Buff. I woke up a few minutes ago. You must have accidentally tripped the silent burglar alarm."

She considered this, faintly surprised. "Huh. The one that goes off in your room, right?"

He nodded. "Right. And then I heard some noise and I knew that you and the girls had crashed ages ago, so I…"

She eyed the axe lying discarded on the floor by his leg. "So you decided to grab that and come and check it out?" She raised an amused eyebrow at him and he shrugged sheepishly.

"Well I knew you'd had a rough night and I didn't want to wake you. Didn't think it would be much, 'cause Willow's monster wards haven't gone off. Thought at most it would be a burglar and not many burglars are going to stay if someone threatens them with a giant axe."

She could see the logic, but there was a giant gaping hole in the middle of it. "Some burglars have guns, Xan," she reminded him softly. "The axe probably wouldn't have stopped you from getting shot."

He nodded, acknowledging her point but not wanting to dwell on might have beens. "Well, when I got here you were standing beside the door and kind of fumbling with it, as though you wanted to get out and couldn't remember how to do it. Thankfully you didn't seem to remember that you could just rip the door off its hinges, 'cause I really didn't want to have to start building a new door at four o'clock in the morning."

She smirked a little at that, returning his wry grin and wrapping her make shift robe closer around her shoulders.

"Then when I asked you what you were doing you just kind of stared straight through me and started muttering."

"Muttering what?"

Xander scratched his eyebrow as he concentrated. "I don't know, something like Chaptereye, or Chaperaye. It was weird. Definitely not something I've heard before. Dawn might know."

Buffy nodded in agreement. These days her little sister was giving Giles a run for his money in finding and learning ever more obscure languages and bizarre ancient dialects. She had even taken to swearing in lesser T'orkorian, one of the weirder demon languages because she enjoyed the way it made her sound, like a cat trying to cough up a giant hairball. Sometimes Buffy wondered if Dawn had embraced all things watcher like a little too much.

"Then you started to kick the door and I started to worry that I was going to have to build a new door again anyway so that's when I shook you."

Which was, he didn't need to mention, an exceptionally brave, although rash thing to do with a semi conscious fully combat ready, hyper-reflexed slayer like her. He was lucky she hadn't automatically backhanded him into a wall.

"So what were you doing down here, Buffster? Any ideas?"

She met his gaze with a matching frown as she searched her memory for any trace of the actions he had described and then slowly shook her head and looked away, her frown deepening. "I don't know. The last thing I remember is collapsing into bed after patrol. I don't know how I got here or what I was doing or anything else that you mentioned." Her frown deepened and a hint of fear slipped into mint green eyes. How could she not remember? She had never sleepwalked before in her life. What if she was actually going nuts, like the doctors had said she was, all those years ago?

She met his eye again and the trace of fear in her gaze made his stomach clench. Nothing frightened Buffy anymore, and the fact that this did meant it was something both of them were going to have to take very, very seriously.

"Xander, what's happening to me? Why can't I remember?"

Moving closer he slipped a comforting arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a shallow hug, both of them forgetting for a moment the seemingly insurmountable issues between them that had in the last few years reduced such affectionate moments to few and far between. Pressing his lips to the crown of her head he tried to protect confidence even as his heart quailed within him at the possible issues that might arise from this incident. Because if what had just happened was only the first symptom of some more deadly malaise, one that could take the senior slayer the way it had taken her mom he didn't know if any of them could stand it.

"I don't know, Buff. But we'll figure it out together. We always do."

But for Buffy, standing shivering under his arm, his words rang hollow. Together was a concept that she had lost faith in, a long time ago.


	12. Chapter 11

Three Chapters! Yay! All reviews grovellingly appreciated.

Chapter 11

She zipped up her hoodie, and settled further down onto the couch, snuggling into the nest of cushions and trying to compose herself for sleep. After last night's incident she and Xander decided that the best way to deal with the situation was by nature of a controlled experiment. She would go to sleep like normal, although slightly more dressed to save Xander's blushes. Xander would stay awake and watch to see exactly what happened and film it for both of them and then they would see where they would go from there. It wasn't the most foolproof of strategies but it was the best plan the two of them had been able to come up with on short notice. So hence the couch.

She covered herself up with the couch throw and started to concentrate on her breathing as a prelude to sleep, conscious of Xander sitting quietly in the corner of the room, camera rolling. She really, really hoped that this worked. The chronicles were suspiciously silent about what the Watchers Council would do to a mad slayer but the very lack of detail didn't bode well. And she didn't trust that the fact that it was her would actually stop Giles from taking whatever action he felt was necessary. As head of the Council Giles could be worryingly cold blooded. Almost, she thought with a small smile as she slipped into unconsciousness, as cold blooded as her.

Xander rubbed his eyes, gulping another mouthful of coffee that had gone beyond cold to rancid. Buffy hadn't stirred since she had fallen asleep around 1am and he was finding it increasingly hard to keep his own eyes open. The house was silent, even the baby slayers long since asleep and he was beginning to wonder if he shouldn't just give it up as a bad job. It certainly didn't seem like that there was going to be a repeat of last night's incident tonight.

Just as he got up as a prelude to turning off the camera there was a sudden movement from the couch that startled him into sitting down again. Buffy was moving, sitting up, head tilted as though hearing a noise, even though the house was quiet. There was an odd abstractness in her movements as though she wasn't really there, just going through the motions that Xander recognised from the night before. But this time instead of hesitating like last night she went straight to the door that the two of them had earlier heavily reinforced and padlocked and started methodically to try to work her way through it.

Xander winced as super strong muscles and fingers started to rip apart the locks and bolts he had spent hours on earlier. Thankfully she didn't seem to have considered the possibilities of the windows yet, for which he was grateful. It was a hell of a lot easier to fix a door than to get new glass at four in the morning. Acting on the plan they had discussed earlier he moved closer, being careful not to try and be stealthy or to get in within reach of her heightened reach and reflexes, carrying the camera with him. He could see her profile now and her green eyes were very calm and intent although worryingly empty, the expression on her face almost serene. There was none of the slight desperation from the previous night, rather it was as if she was all about a purpose and the very calmness with which she was attacking the door somehow gave him hope that he wasn't about to watch his friend descend into madness.

Setting the camera he moved a little closer and attempted an overture.

"Hey Buff."

To his amazement she responded although without taking her focus off of her work and without breaking that strange otherworldly calm.

"Hey Xander."

Encouraged he continued.

"Buff – what are you doing?"

She didn't look at him but the tone of her voice was distinctly aggravated.

"I'm trying to get out of here."

"Why?"

"Well, I have to go."

"Go where, Buffster?"

"I have to find _it_, of course." By now she sounded as though she was speaking to an idiot child and despite himself the corners of Xander's mouth quirked. He'd heard that tone a few times before.

"What's it, Buff?"

She sighed; her fingers still busy and he bet that if he could have seen her whole face her eyes would have been rolling. It was actually quite funny, obviously even unconscious there were certain personality traits that never really went away.

"It, Xander. You know, the thing."

"What thing?"

She lifted a hand for a moment to wave it in a vague circle in the air.

"The circle thing, the chappy thing. You know, the thing the powers want me to find!"

Xander took a deep breath, relief flooding him. It was just another slayer thing after all. And more to the point one of his oldest friends wasn't actually going mad. Settling down again he went back to the task of trying to drag more information out of his unwitting associate.

"Where's the thing Buffy?"

This time he did actually see her roll her eyes. "I don't know! That's why I have to go and find it!"

"Okay. Then how are you going to find it?"

"Just am. Feel it inside. It's dragging me, Xander." This time she actually turned her head to look at him and he noticed with relief that her expression was starting to lose its wooden quality as the urgency of her purpose bled away as she talked to him.

"Could you find it tomorrow?"

She seemed to consider this and then frowned slightly.

"I suppose."

"Then why don't you go back to bed now and we'll find it tomorrow, together."

"We will?"

"Yup. Sure. We'll find it tomorrow together."

She frowned a little more and then just like a small child she shrugged her assent and padded back to the couch, burying into the covers and immediately falling deep into slumber again.

Xander sighed in relief. He didn't think she would be wandering around again tonight but just in case he curled up himself in one of the chairs close by. If she woke up again he would be there, and hopefully in time to stop the door getting destroyed. Again.

"So, that it?"

It was after breakfast and the baby slayers were all off to school or college. The two of them had the house to themselves and they had settled down to watch the tape and to try and glean any scraps of information they could out of it. Buffy had watched it silently, occasionally frowning as her sleeping self did something slightly out of character but otherwise not reacting, even as Xander expanded on his observations. When they had watched it two or three times they sat back and drank their respective coffees, Xander gaze fixed on her face.

"Yup. You didn't stir for the rest of the night. Slept like a baby."

"Hhmm."

"If you don't mind me saying Buffster, it seems like the Powers are messing with you again."

Holding up his hands to ward off her glare, he backpedalled defensively. "I'm just saying! At least you don't have to worry that you are actually going mad."

She nodded in agreement. That was a seriously huge weight off her mind. Going mad was one of those horrors that had haunted her dreams ever since that time when her parents had committed her to the psychiatric hospital just after she had first been called. But now instead of looming madness she had to worry about this mysterious call and what it was all about.

Since she had heard what Xander had to say and had watched the tape she had felt what her sleeping self had been going on about, a faint, almost unnoticeable pulse inside her, very close to the place where she felt vampires and demons but subtly different. If she hadn't known it was there she wouldn't have been able to distinguish it from her general supernatural "pulse" but now she had it was clear and distinct. And it was calling her. Calling out that she had to be elsewhere.

She shifted restlessly, aware of Xander's inquiring gaze.

"I think that I have to be somewhere." It came out in a rush but to her surprise Xander didn't seem even vaguely taken aback. Instead he nodded in agreement.

"I thought you might have to." He grinned slightly at her nonplussed expression.

"I did have a large part of last night to think about this Buff," he pointed out gently. "And if the powers are telling you to go and find something so urgently that you sleep walk to find it…well, " he shrugged "stands to reason that you'll have to go and find it as soon as you can. Even if it's just so you can get an uninterrupted night's sleep."

They exchanged quick smiles at that before Buffy pushed herself up from the table, indecision over. Already her mind was making lists of what she had to take, who she would have to tell.

"Xander, can you tell Giles and stuff?"

Nodding, the young Watcher, wrapped a hand around his cooling cup of coffee. "Don't worry. I'll deal with all that stuff. Just go and do the thing that you have to do."

She smiled gratefully at him and turned to go upstairs, some part of her already tuning in to the hunt, her body quickening with the urge to go and find the thing. Damn Powers.

"Buffy."

She turned back, raising an inquiring eyebrow.

"Be careful, okay? And keep in touch."

With a nod of acknowledgement she bounded out of the room and Xander shook his head as he recognised the tell tale signs of a Slayer on the hunt. He 'd be lucky if he got a phone call a week. Sometimes he really hated the way the powers interfered with the women in his life, whether senior or baby slayers. But that was just the way it was.

"Damn Powers."

And with that last muttered comment he went to phone Giles. The Senior Watcher certainly wasn't going to be happy about this new development.


	13. Chapter 12

Author: Sigma

Rating: PG-15 for language

Disclaimer: Just remember – I own nothing!

Authors note: I know it's been a very long time – but here it is if anyone is still interested! I apologise for any typos, I beta my own work so I may have missed something – please point them out if you find them. And if it lessens the irritatation at all Buffy has been driving me nuts for the last 6 months by getting stuck on her motorcycle in Kansas and refusing to move on! Grr – damned writers block...

Chapter 12

There was dust in her hair. Dust in her hair and in her eyes and caked on her hands and her skin, despite the black leathers and matt black helmet that encased her like armour. Somehow the dust always managed to sneak in, through the gaps between gloves and sleeves, at the ankles where boots met leather pants and up the back of her neck where it joined gleefully with the sweat that was pouring down her skin, forming a lovely kind of pale tan mud that was so not this season's colour. And more to the point it itched. Itched and after a few hours started to chafe and then by the time evening drew on escalated itself to a tango dancing, samba hipped annoyance to join with the other small aches and complaints that arose as a result of spending far too long in the sun on a motorbike that was still, despite all the adjustments Faith had made to it, a little too wide in the seat to be totally comfortable. She shifted again, conscious of every lump in the padded seat and every bump in the road as you can only be after eight hours in the saddle, with only a brief comfort break around lunch. The road was driving her on, miles passing beneath the tyres like poetry, life worn down to the basics, the road the wind, the relentless urge to move. She was hunting and the pulse low in her stomach was beating in time to her heart, pushing little things like food and sleep into the background. But enough was enough. She needed to eat, she needed the brief 3 or 4 hours that were essential to help keep a slayer on top of her game and more to the point she needed a shower. 'Cause she was pretty sure that she stank.

She pulled into a motel near St Louis as the sun was setting, streaks of red and orange limed with gold painting the sky and the tarmac, the Kawasakirasping down from a sotto voice roar to a purr as she pulled into a parking space. She patted the chassis affectionately as she switched off the engine and dismounted, being careful to secure it with the immobiliser she always carried in one of the panniers. It was her baby this bike and she was careful of it as she was of few other physical possessions, not so much because of what it was but because of what it represented – freedom and the ability to leave things behind. She had discovered since Sunnydale that those were things she needed, almost craved. It was as though those seven years of forced intimacy in a small town, seven years of patrolling the same cemeteries, the same streets and parks had built up a wanderlust that wouldn't be quenched, given her itchy feet and a desire to roam that surprisingly only Faith of all those claimed to know her seemed to understand. It had been Faith in fact that had suggested the bike, having seen the gleam in Buffy's eyes when the dark slayer had rolled up to the Cleveland house on her Harley Davidson. And it had been Faith who had pointed out to her that the reason she was such a crap driver was not due to her inability to drive but rather that the reaction times of everyone else on the road were something less than half of what theirs were. So in a car slayers as a general breed were an incitement to accident. But on a bike…. On a bike they were free to react as fast as clear roads and the limitations of a machine could let them. And that was pretty damn fast. She had been convinced after one lesson and one wildly exhilarating ride through the moonlit streets of Cleveland. The next day the two of them had taken the ridiculous amount of unused back pay that she had accumulated and had hit the dealerships leaving the motorcycle jungle telegraph drooling in their wake.

And her baby was the result. She patted the metal again affectionately as she slung a saddlebag across her shoulder, helmet left secured in its box but leathers still tight against her skin. It was a truck stop as well as a motel and she could feel the lustful glances from the various men hanging around the forecourt and staring through the diner window but she ignored them, giving off winter artic vibes. She couldn't do anything about the wholly predictable effect that she was having - petite blond in black leather, but she didn't have to indulge them either.

The room was basic, scraggy double bed with faded counterpane, almost unnecessary in heat of late summer in the Midwest, but more importantly it had a good lock on the door and a shower. Bliss. She washed quickly, stripping the dirt from her hair economically then dressed in clean jeans and a shirt, leaving her leathers to air. Supper was quick, a surprisingly good omelette and fries, and she was tempted enough to stay for the blueberry pie that the matronly waitress pushed upon her, muttering under her breath disapprovingly about young girls who were far too skinny. The maternal concern brought a brief smile to her lips but the taste of the pie nearly undid her, too similar to her Mom's favourite peace offering to be anything but painful, and she could only manage another bite or two to please the waitress but she added a generous tip to the bill when she paid. Due to her consistent blanking of all the other patrons she only had to kick one guy in the groin when he offered to get friendly and wouldn't take no for an answer. It was a better result than normal as sometimes the score had ended up in the double digits.

Sleep. She needed sleep.

The hunting pulse pulled her out of slumber before the sun was even fully up in the sky and she thanked chance and providence for 24 hour diners. A bagel and cream cheese, coffee and sandwiches pushed upon her to take with by the other waitress who was just as maternally orientated as her sister and she was on the road again with her baby, the tarmac blurring into oblivion before and behind her. She felt like she was outside time, only the pulse that throbbed in time with her heart, a growing sense of urgency, the road and her baby existed in this place with her. All else was blur and shadows, people and cars moving too slowly to really be tracked, like the shimmer of heat haze off the road that you see from the corner of your eyes.

The sun beat down but she didn't really notice, focused inward, listening intently to the guide that was leading her. Turn here, it said, no not that road, this one, cut across here, it's faster, now speed up, slow down for the traffic. This road, this one. And she obedient servant followed on, in thrall to its whispered commands.

Sunset hit her as a surprise, the rapid drop in temperature and the darkness that was a slayers natural home triggering an end to her self absorption. And there was something else going on as well, her spidey sense making itself felt strongly enough that it overwhelmed any other thought or action. It led her to park her bike some distance from the diner she saw illuminated in the distance and pad her way in closer, pulling the shadows with her as she scoped out the terrain.

Three vampires who had staged a smash and grab on the diner by the look of it. Truckers or Hells' Angels in life, in death they were just as fat, greasy and obnoxious as they had been when they still needed to breath. One had already drained one of the patrons and the second was already scoping out his chosen victim, a tired man in a crumpled business suit who looked completely disbelieving that this could possibly be happening to him. The third was terrorising the waitress, the limp body of the short order cook on the floor showing what had happened to the only individual brave or stupid enough to put up any kind of resistance. She slipped around the back, looking for an entrance. She could just charge in from the front, three unfit, overweight vampires were hardly a challenge these days, but one thing dying three times had taught her was that discretion genuinely was sometimes the better part of valour. There was no way that her slaying career was going to be ended in a diner somewhere in the middle of nowhere outside of Topeka. There was a back door that led through the kitchens. Reaching into air she triggered the pocket dimension that Willow had personalised for her, choosing her weapons, leaving the scythe alone- too big for the enclosed space, pulling out five stakes that went down the side of boots and into her waistband. Her leather jacket she left at the door, too stiff to be ideal to move in.

Then as always, things very quickly became a blur of dance and death. She caught them totally by surprise and she wasn't in the mood to inform them of who was destroying them. They caught on quickly enough when the first's smile at the delectable morsel that had just appeared changed abruptly to an open mouthed O of astonishment as a flung stake caught him squarely in the heart.

"Slayer" the second hissed as he threw himself at her and a quirked smile touched her lips as she kicked him across the room and then flung another stake that pinned him to the wall for a brief moment before he disappeared into dust. The last was more wary, circling around her, heading for the exit. She circled with him to cut him off, feeling the diner's four patrons and the waitress scrabble to get behind her as she did so. He charged, she feinted and he went flying past her with a roar of surprise. It was pretty obvious that he hadn't been very smart when he was alive and being dead had only added to the problem. She spun in a deadly pirouette as he came back at her and the last thing he knew was a pair of implacable green eyes and the sensory thud as a stake buried itself in his chest.

Buffy glanced around the room, just in case she had missed any vamps lurking and then brushed herself off briskly. The stakes disappeared back into her boots and she straightened and eyed the still huddled diner customers wearily. She hated this bit, especially the looks on their faces as though they weren't sure if she wasn't going to attempt to munch on them next. She pulled her hair down from its messy ponytail and started putting it back in a slightly neater shape and it was this unexpectedly domestic action that seemed to reassure them more than anything she could have said. The businessman collapsed on a stool, pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one with a shaking hand, the waitress fumbled for the coffee pot and started dispensing coffee to everyone and the truckers and the older woman just stared.

Buffy ignored them all and went to check on the unfortunate that the vamps had got to before she arrived. It was instantly clear that there was no chance of recovery; his throat had been gnawed on until it looked like raw beef and his eyes were glassy and vacant. She grimaced and reached down to close his eyes, adding his face to the list in her mind of all the people she hadn't been able to save. It was a long list.

Thankfully the cook was starting to come round, sitting woozily upright with the waitress pressing a wet towel to his head. But they were all still staring. Enough already.

She turned to face them and put her hands on her hips. "Okay, here's the deal. This is the ultra short version. Those things were vampires. Vampires exist. So do lots of other things. I kill them. That's what I do. Get it?"

She pierced them with a glare until they nodded hesitantly, like mice hypnotised by a cat. "Unfortunately this guy is dead, so you're going to have to call the police. My suggestion is you use the old attacked-by-a-mountain-lion-heard him screaming-found-the-body excuse. Because if you don't you're going to get into a whole lot of confusion that you really don't want to deal with." She shrugged. "But it's your choice. And now, I've got to be going."

She moved to the door and the waitress reached out a hand to stop her, removing it rapidly as Buffy raised an eyebrow at her.

"Yes?"

"Wait, we just, we can't, what do we do next?" she stuttered.

The senior slayer's gaze travelled over the other woman's face, seeing the lines that care had put there, the tiredness that even shock couldn't dislodge and her face softened a bit. She reached out a hand and touched the other woman on the arm, ignoring the slight reactionary flinch.

"Live. Go on. Get up tomorrow and the next day and go to work. It'll be easier if you just forget this ever happened."

"But what if…"

"They won't be back. They're gone. But if you want to make sure it doesn't happen again, here are some things you can do."

Rapidly she gave them details of Vamp prevention 101. Crosses, holy water shooter guns, bits of wood, fire. How to check, what to do, how to (hopefully) not get killed.

"But remember…" she concluded "that they are stronger than you, faster than you, so don't try anything stupid. Just survive." It was all she could do for them. She couldn't afford to stay or get a slayer posted here on the off chance that a few vampires might pass by.

The man in the business suit frowned as she finished her lecture, looking her up and down in an assessing and slightly disparaging way.

"You killed them," his tone was accusatory and faintly disbelieving as though it was obvious that anything she could kill wouldn't be too hard for the rest of them to dispose of. She met his eyes and let the slayer show through and after a moment he flinched and looked away.

"Yes, I did. But that's what I do." She moved to the door and this time no one tried to stop her. "Hey, does anyone know a good motel around here?"

The waitress pointed out the window and down the highway, her hand only shaking a little now. "There's a Super Eight about 20 miles on."

"Cool. Well I'll be going then."

The waitress just nodded, still staring, but just as Buffy stepped out the door she called out.

"Ma'am?"

Buffy half turned and raised an eyebrow in enquiry.

"Thank you."

Taken aback, Buffy paused for a minute and then gave her a full on dazzling smile in return.

"It's no problem. Just doing my job. Be well."

And just like that, like some old west gunslinger she headed on out of dodge. Bad guys slain, populace mostly saved, spidey sense happy, not a bad night after all.

She stopped briefly at the motel the waitress had recommended but the hunt had her in its grasp, beating at her with an overwhelming sense of urgency that only allowed 3 hours sleep before it pulled her out of slumber with a gut wrenching vision of a grey wave encompassing the planet and the pulse beating so strongly that she felt it through her entire system, like her body was a drum being played by a giant, invisible hand. It was only 2 am and she snarled to herself as she pulled on her leathers reflecting that who ever was in charge here was both bossy and demanding and obviously didn't take such things as her need for an occasional nights rest into consideration. Then it was her bike and the road, Route 1-70 unending in front of her, headlights bisecting the darkness, the purr of the engine between her thighs and the endless, unceasing beat of the pulse.

It was only when she passed Colby, the scattered lights of the town still bright in the pre-dawn darkness that she began to twig that something more than just random chance was going on. Wherever she was going it looked like at least part of her route led her into Colorado. Daniel was in Colorado, in Colorado Springs to be exact, and at the rate she was going it looked like the pulse was leading her right to him. Daniel who worked at some kind of military installation. Daniel who would probably recognise the vision of the guarded entrance tunnel from her dream. Daniel who she had thought was her friend, just her friend and not connected to any of the supernatural wackiness that was so prevalent in her life. She steered the bike over to the hard shoulder, braked and put it into neutral, suddenly so pissed at the world and the fucking powers-that-be that it was all she could do not to scream out loud. Couldn't she have just _one_ thing that was just hers? One thing that wasn't connected to saving the world, or being a Champion, or fighting the fight against the powers of darkness? Her meeting Daniel had been so statistically out there, so unlikely, so much a mixture of chance and luck that she had managed to convince herself that it was just serendipity, just karma on her part that she had been there at just the right moment, at the right time on the right day to intervene and pull his fat out the fire. And when he had felt so compelled to find her to say thank you she had just put it down to him being the decent kind of guy that she now knew that he was. And all the conversations, the bubble of warmth that she felt when she saw he had sent another email, the appreciate glint in his blue eyes when they had met, the strength and firmness of his fingers twined about her when they had held hands, all those things that had felt so precious because they were just about her, just her – Buffy. Not "Summers" not the "Senior Slayer" not "the Slayer" (because she always heard the capital S in peoples voices even when it was the other girls who were gossiping). Not "the Chosen One", not "the Champion", or even "Dawn's sister". Just her - Buffy Summers, just a girl who despite herself and all her history had found herself liking a guy for no star crossed reasons, no dreadful fated destiny, but just because he was funny and smart and stubborn and irredeemably decent and made her smile, even when everything else in her life was turning to shit.

She only realised that she was crying when a blob of liquid trickled off the edge of her lowered cheekbone and splashed onto the black leather of her gloves. It was just that it was so typical, so normal in her messed up life that the powers would find some way to screw her over even more than they had already. She had to accept that nothing she did had anything to do with chance; nothing would ever just be about "Buffy". And she tried, god knows how she had tried, especially since she had grown mature enough to truly understand what it was to be a Champion and a Slayer, tried to whole heartedly bear the weight of the duty on her shoulders with no resentment, tried to be the prefect slayer, to keep innocents safe and uphold the light and be a role model for the hundreds of super powered girls who looked up to her as their leader. But sometimes she was so lonely it was as though she looked inside herself and saw a gaping echoing hole where her heart had been, the little part of her that was still "Buffy" swamped beneath the overwhelming demands of the Slayer. It had been Buffy, not the Slayer who had written back to Daniel, Buffy who had scooped precious time from her schedule and her duty to meet her friend in New York, Buffy, not the Slayer that had harboured a wistful hope that someday their friendship might become something more.

And now reality had come crashing down again, smashing all those barely formed hopes and dreams into dust. The powers had wanted them to meet, the powers needed Daniel for some reason connected to her dream of world-endage and as she knew only too well, when the powers were involved it was almost guaranteed that the whole thing would end up with the two of them hip deep in some kind of supernatural crap. And then he would know exactly who she was and what she did and he would never again look at her and just see Buffy, rather than Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

She didn't know for how long she cried, for lost dreams and hopes and inevitability and the crushing stupidity of her attempt to have something just for her but by the time she wiped her eyes and blew her nose the sun was starting to peak up over the horizon and the flatness of the landscape was painted in swaths of reds and gold. She snuffled a few more times and then put on her game face, hiding the disappointment and the hurt behind a predators mask as she put the bike into gear and hit the road again. She was the Slayer. And would be as long as she lived and maybe even beyond. And if the part of her that was Buffy had to pay the price for humanities continued existence, well then as they said in the Corp – suck it up Marine.

But the tiny little part of her inside that never gave up hope dared to daydream that even with the powers interference maybe she would be able to grasp just a little bit of happiness before everything went completely up the spout.


End file.
